


make (if you dare) a better world

by lavenderthoughts



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Brief allusion to Barbara Gordon/Dinah Lance, Bruce Wayne Really Tries to be a Good Dad, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Budding Relationship, Case Fic, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family, Fear gas, Gotham City - Freeform, M/M, Minor Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake Friendship, Tim Drake is Red Robin, but he's also emotionally constipated, but not graphic?, but they're there, descriptions of violence, no beta we die like robins, or rather
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderthoughts/pseuds/lavenderthoughts
Summary: "Am I interrupting?" Alfred asked, as polite as ever, fully aware that he was mostdefinitelyinterrupting.Upon hearing his voice, Tim hastily returned to his tablet, pretending as though his lips hadn't been but a few millimetres away from kissing Jason, setting his mind to pick up his pursuit of the business files with their person of interest. His eyes totally not running to the corners to get a view of Jason.Jason was grinning confidently as a means to direct attention away from his peachy cheeks and reddening ears, making a show of returning to the book before him, pretending as though he hadn't been a moment away from taking hold of Tim's waist and pulling him onto his lap.It was only upon Alfred's departure he realised he was holding his book upside down.Or,Tim and Jason find out their separate trails lead to the same road, which soon unveils a great conspiracy to eliminate anything preventing further profits by protecting workers. Featuring Scarecrow, a greedy CEO, an unknown puppet master, and a resort for people with money to spend money.All the whilst their friends and fellow bats keep pestering them about feelings which they certainly do not have.
Relationships: Batfamily - Relationship, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 28
Kudos: 218
Collections: Best of the Batfamily





	1. Arise, ye prisoners of starvation

**Author's Note:**

> I hate it when writers go "uh ignore my summary it's bad" blah blah blah" because we all struggle with summaries and we all hate it.  
> However, I just spent the past **2 HOURS** trying to come up with something satisfying, and yet failing to formulate anything adequate.  
> So here I am, complaining. Woe is me.
> 
> Please enjoy this piece of fanfic. It should be updated weekly, since I have drafted all but the final chapter/s, and thus need only to edit. Yay for preparation.
> 
> (title is from Rg Gregory's _Proverbs from Hell_. the chapter title is derived from Eugène Pottier's translation of _L'Internationale_ )
> 
> EDIT: Forgot to mention; In my mind, Tim’s 19 in this, whilst Jason’s 22. Incase anyone felt /: abt Jason occasionally refering to Tim as a ’teen’: dw he’s just a jerk not a creep.

Jason grit his teeth as he landed on the ground, barely taking the moment to register the event before running. If Bruce had borne witness to his brash recklessness, he’d be benched without second thought.

He spotted the man rounding the corner, now running. He grinned and took off, running with such speed his heavy leather jacket found itself fluttering ever so slightly in the wind.

Fortunately, Bruce couldn’t do shit about his supposed ‘recklessness’ no more.

The man was dressed in all-black clothing, the kind that couldn’t help but scream discretion, and Jason had found him lingering outside the union meeting, as though awaiting a signal. Only to sneak in midway through, and remain inside long enough for Jason to believe his initial suspicion correct - that he was merely a shy newcomer. However, he soon exited the building, and Jason could have sworn the man’s body language screamed with anxiety. 

So the Red Hood took off.

Which, sure, considering nothing else, might seem rash and downright irresponsible of him.

He rounded the corner, and though the stranger remained quite a bit ahead yet, it was simultaneously clear that Jason was gaining ground.

However, one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, or whatever it is that suburban women spout.  
This did not occur in a vacuum. _Though this be madness, there is yet method in ’t._

The union and their associates had seen their numbers decrease steadily over the past few weeks. Following years - decades - of slow, but _careful_ , growth. Even the faces he’d known since before his death and before Robin had been obvious in their absence. People Jason knew were passionate, who’d dedicated their lives thus far to the cause.  
Their once-regular attempts to recruit fellow workers had also first grown less frequent, only to eventually cease entirely, along with the events and lectures open for everyone - rendering their activity to include naught but a monthly gathering.  
Something was clearly wrong. These people weren’t just quitting, just abandoning their life’s work because they all simultaneously just _felt_ like it.

This figure, whoever it was and whatever they were doing, was the first and only clue proving Jason’s suspicions of intentional interference to be of merit, and he was not letting them get away.

The sweat ran insistently down his skin underneath his helmet, his hot skin yearning for the sweet touch of the cool wind caressing his running form. Not for the first time he questioned his decision not to settle with a simple domino mask. He couldn’t help but grimace as an annoying voice in his head reminded him that it was but late April, and that the warm humidity yet lingering at night would yet grow increasingly oppressive.

He also couldn't help but note that they'd enjoyed an exceptionally warm spring thus far, which left him dreading what summer might have in store. ~~Fucking global warming~~.

He was getting closer, his target clearly wearing out quick - his movements only losing grace with each step. Jason would be all caught up before the next turn, it was clear - and judging by the desperate grunt coming from his target, he wasn’t alone with his prediction.  
He felt a spurt of adrenaline shoot through him despite him not even close to approach him limits. Though he would hardly decline the additional lash of energy, thoroughly enjoying the quickened sound of his footsteps beneath him.  
If he reached out his hand, he would almost be able to grasp his target by their shoulder. 

Almost  
Just a few short steps and he would have him.  
He reached out, ready to grasp one of the target’s flailing limbs -

Only to meet a sudden halt, crashing into something reaching no higher than his chin. His brain immediately registered the obstacle to be human, thus he on instinct reached out to instead wrap his arms around the smaller figure, bracing for impact.

The force yet lingering from Jason’s sprint sent them tumbling down the street, but his helmet shielded him from any serious injury, and he couldn’t do much but hope his gauntlets and jacket provided enough of a buffer to spare the poor sod curbing his path.  
The helmet did prove to have a utility beyond its aesthetic value. Still too hot, though.

He really didn’t have the energy to deal with the bats getting their knickers in a twist upon hearing that he’d sent a civilian to the hospital. Regardless of circumstances.  
If Dick dared to accuse him of not making enough effort, Jason swore to cut off his tongue.

As they made contact with the old and broken concrete beneath them, Jason saw in the corner of his eye his target jump into a car, swiftly escaping his line of sight.

Perfect. Lovely. Just. Neat.

Once the dust finally gathered, he clumsily realised that he was still holding the figure against his chest tight, and hastily let his arms fall to his sides with a heavy sigh. If he looked down to find either an unconscious body resting upon his chest, or even worse, a stranger who looked far too glad about their position, he might finally end it and see if the entire being-dead thing would stick around this time.

He took a deep breath, desperately trying to withhold his anger and not unleash it upon some innocent citizen whose only crime was being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Praying to a god he didn’t believe in they weren’t too injured, and could wander off relatively unscathed, be it with a few bruises and whatnot.

What he did not expect when finally daring a glance downwards was to catch the whites of a hideous cowl to stare right back at him. 

“What are you doing here?” he hears a familiar voice say, with clear irritation seeping through his words. Gathering his bearings, Jason’s eyes finally register the familiar blacks and reds of Red Robin. Forthwith, any attempt to suppress his wrath is forgotten as the smaller man scrambles up to his feet, and were Jason not distracted by the younger man’s _audacity_ to scowl, he’d probably not overlook the dust of rose creeping up on his cheeks. 

With a heavy grunt of his own, Jason heaved himself up on his feet, glaring at the other vigilante regardless of the futility of the effort.

“What am _I_ doing here?” he starts, the venom in his voice unmistakable “These are my streets -what are you doing here?” he retorts, rising to his feat with less haste and thus far more grace than the other vigilante who currently better resembled an angered rabbit that a knight of the bat. To someone unfamiliar with the sweet face beneath the cowl he might appear different, but Jason could since long see nothing but. With calculated steps and a helmet shielding his every expression, Jason approaches the younger bird. Who, expectantly, is less than unimpressed by his towering height and broad shoulders, somehow providing his stature with more elegance than it bore a moment past. His stance and attitude somehow yet concealing his small stature up close.

With an inward chuckle void of any joy, Jason entertained himself with the notion of Ra’s al Ghul attempting to intimidate the teen his stature and presence, only to be met with a huff and a rolling pair of blue eyes.

“Your streets? What the hell are you talking about, we’re in-” Tim started before finally turning his head to look around and absorb his surroundings: the houses yet retaining their destructive state since the earthquake, the broken lights above them, the darkened windows of the buildings still intact, the mold creeping its way across the wall behind them. “Oh”

“Yeah,” Jason replied, his tone conveying more irritation than necessary. “You just lost me the first new proper trail I’ve had on my case for weeks,” Jason complained, clearing his voice of any prevailing toxins upon seeing Tim’s eyes widen even in his domino mask, his lips forming a perfect “o” in genuine confusion.

”What the hell are you doing out here, babybird?” Jason started with a sigh, and despite his best efforts he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of worry well up inside him, “And what the fuck got you distracted enough to end up at the wrong part of town?” Jason questioned, inwardly cringing at the concern seeping through between the lines. No matter that this is Tim, the only Robin to listen to the Bat, the clever and loyal one - the one who wouldn’t do something as stupid as end up at the wrong place during patrol due to distraction.  
“Daddy Bats is sure to be very disappointed would he find out your clearly spiraling state. I wonder if he’d let you keep running about…” he teased, hastily returning to his detached persona, locking his other thoughts in a chest at the far back of his mind.

“My case led me here.” Tim replied, and did his cowl just display him raising one of his eyebrows? Unbelievable. Not only did he steal yet another one of Jason’s aliases, but he had the gall to improve the costume as well. “And since when do you care about Batman’s opinions?” 

“I don’t,” Jason grinned, despite knowing the helmet would do nothing to confer his expressions unlike a certain cowl what the hell tim-. “And since when do you have cases down here, babybird? There’s naught but drug dealers roaming these streets - most of ’em victims themselves,” Jason continued, keeping his tone casual but eyes sharp. What was Tim doing here? This part of town was rough, but not even the rogues of Gotham voluntarily chose to spend time here: this was the location of the victims more than the perpetrators.

“Since now,” Tim replied absently, not even pretending to pay him any mind, his attention wholly directed to the screen he now held before him.

Man, nothing made Jason more technophobic than the technomania of some of the bats. Maybe Janet had a point when complaining about “today's youth and their phones” whenever he checked out books at the public library, politely pretending to listen to her complaints about the growing absence of young adults in her library, intentionally not reminding her of the university libraries across town. 

Without hesitation, Jason strided forwards to pluck the tablet out of Tim’s hands, moving swiftly not to trigger a reaction until the deed was done.  
”Babybird, you’ve gotten way too comfortable around me if you think I won’t deck you for simply being in my part of town without good reason,” Jason threatens playfully, raising up his arm, cartoonishly keeping the tablet out of Tim’s reach, secretly grateful for his decision to follow suit and incorporate slight platforms to his boots providing him the few extra inches he needed not to look like a fool.

Tim, to his disappointment, did not take the bait. Content to merely send a glare in his direction, crossing his arms over his chest as he settled after his initial launch to grab hold of his property, apparently too proud to give Jason an inch of entertainment.

Now, Jason was well aware that Tim got a stick so far up his arse he could combat Bruce on a good day, but the Tim Jason had grown to… _tolerate_ would at the very least give him a raised eyebrow and a snarky comeback. The former of which had cowl had proven capable of communicating.  
This wasn’t merely sleep deprivation, babybird had fallen out of the nest again.

Jason ignored the part of him which instantly lit a flicker of rage towards one Dick Grayson, not even addressing the accompanying part of his mind calling him a hypocrite for blaming Dick when he, himself, had done far more to make Tim feel like he didn’t belong. 

Jason tucked the tablet away, hiding it in one of the pockets lining the inside of his jacket, robbing Tim of the ability to stealthily take it back, lest he risk raising Jason’s ire.

“What’s this about a case? As the self-appointed neighbourhood representative, I might give you the honour of a tour,” he joked, keeping the tone light. Dick was the family therapist, if babybird wanted to talk, he’d turn to him.

Though their relationship had yet to fully mend since the whole Robin-rejection business… 

“I-” Tim started, his shoulders hunching forward in defeat, “I don’t know,” he sighed heavily, “I have a vague lead that there should be something here related to a case-” he shook his head, “Honestly, I can hardly call it a case at this point, it’s more of a suspicion,” he bit his lip in a motion of uncertainty, probably not even conscious of it. Probably expecting Jason to make fun of him.

And he would, but there’s no fun making fun of a bird with a broken wing.  
“Yeah, I know how you feel,” he sighed, “I guess you could say I’m in a similar situation myself,” he complained, before ripping off his helmet to send Tim a cheeky grin. Leaving him bare-faced with the exception of the domino mask he’d taken to wearing ever since the Riddler had gotten closer than he’d like to see his face. “Want to move to the rooftop and justify our continued pursuit?”

The faintest of smiles slowly formed on Tim’s lips, following a battle between his angsty teen mind and the invisible force tugging the corners of his lips. Unbeknownst to himself, the cheeky grin on his own face soon turned into a gentle smile radiating fondness, too distracted by the unclear warmth spreading through his chest.  
It had been a minute since the two had met, nevertheless had a chat, but Jason wasn’t keen on the idea that he’d _missed_ his replacement. 

“Race you there,” Tim teased, following a brief moment of the two simply… looking at each other, instantly unleashing his grappling hook, taking off towards the roof of the most stable-looking multistory building around.  
Jason playfully unleashed a sound of pretend-anger, yelling an accusation of cheating in Tim’s direction before setting off after him, yet incapable of disarming the relentless smile yet lingering. 

Upon landing, he finds that Tim had already taken a seat at the edge of the rooftop, allowing his legs dangle down in front of him, posturing as though he’d been left waiting.  
Bastard, Jason thought far too fondly.

Silently, Jason took a seat beside him with far enough distance to comfortably place his helmet in between them without risking contact.

For a moment, they withheld the temporary quiet. Tuning in the the noises of their city - the cars, the people, and the charged sounds of electricity emitting from the recently installed solar panels. An installment which stuck out from their surrounding ruins like a sore thumb, and one of the most recent version of billionaire charity projects not really addressing the problem. ~~Namely an underpaid and exploited working class~~.

“It’s… It’s probably nothing,” Tim started, a tinge of nervosity writhing itself onto his face, though it suffered defeat upon Jason sending what he intended to be a reassuring-slash-encouraging smile his way.  
Watch out, Dick, lest your lone reign as the sole bat with emotional intelligence shall meet a swift end.  
“I caught a glimpse of Mr. Blackwood dropping something in Ms. Ahmadzai’s coffee, with the kind of finesse of someone who’d not merely done it before, but did it comfortably,” he started, already defending himself, “Anyway, I excused myself and made sure to knock over her cup as I walked by,” he continued, before adapting a sheepish look, diverting his gaze as to avoid eye contact, “I might also have been looking for any reason to escape the paperwork expecting my approval, so upon noticing the cup yet held enough liquid for a food few tests, I decided to gather a few samples to send to the lab. I half-heartedly convinced myself that though it was almost certainly an ordinary date rape drug, his confidence might reveal him as a frequent customer on that particular market, and from that I forced the conclusion that I needed to check whether it was a new drug, but potentially lethal for some reason,” he paused. Seconds passed by them, and for a moment Jason questioned whether they’d reached the end of the story, however, Tim’s facial expression told him otherwise. 

He looked concerned.  
No, he appeared downright anxious.

Jason would bet based upon the look in his eyes alone that other than his typical workaholism, whatever Tim was going to reveal next was to blame for his recent lack of rest.

“I found traces of Scarecrow’s fear toxin.” Tim’s voice was but a silent whisper, yet his quiet words were more than enough to trigger Jason’s fight-or-flight reflexes.

Scarecrow.

A silence fell over them.  
No bat had been spared pain, they all suffered from nightmares, were all plagued by memories they’d rather forget. The list of which only grew longer, thereby increasing the threat of Scarecrow and his gas.

At the mere mention of his name, Jason felt as though every painful memory flashed before his eyes, and soon reality escaped him as the sounds of driving cars and irritated drivers, the smell of pollution and gas, the feeling of cold stone against his thighs or the weak wind stroking his neck all ceased in favour of a painful void. Only to be replaced by the overbearing sensation of starvation and desperation, the fear of his child-self that each day might as well be his last. The pain and hopelessness of the crowbar, hitting him until he was no more, all the whilst he called for help that never arrived, never reached out. The pit; the green acid invading his every pore, burning him from the inside until he knew nothing but rage and death.  
A shiver ran down his spine, which he immediately set to shake off.

He needn’t look to his side to know that Tim was experiencing something similar. 

“Labour-unionists are disappearing” Jason suddenly burst out, shattering the oppressive silence before it would fully engulf them. He would scold himself for the emotional ring clinging to his vocal chords were he not too relieved to return to reality. “Or… Not disappearing, technically. But withdrawing, quitting. Turning their backs, leaving what was once their life’s purpose without a second thought,” it sounded much dumber when he said it out loud. Yet, his gut refused to let it go. “I was chasing a dude I didn’t recognise who acted suspiciously, first creeping outside the meeting before sneaking in for a good minute, only to leave immediately thereafter. Looking like he’d just committed a crime.” He leaned back, supporting his weight on his arms, “‘Twas was enough for me to start running, and yet it remains the best clue I’ve got that my suspicions are right.”  
He tilted his head upwards, gazing at the black sky above, absently wondering if even the stars had abandoned their city, or whether they really were on the other side of those heavy clouds of smoke forming above. In which case, he couldn’t help but ponder whether they worked to rob Gotham of a starry sky, or if it rather worked to protect the astral bodies from them,

Too caught up in his, admittedly pretentious, musings, Jason missed the widened whites of Tim’s cowl. Only brought back once Tim draped himself over him, grabbing for his tablet. Thankfully pushing his helmet inwards, down on the roof, rather than the opposite direction.  
“Did you say labour-unionists? As in, people engaged in labour unions?” Tim asked, seemingly nonchalant about their position at the edge of a rooftop, leading to Jason grabbing a hold around his waist, leaning back as to get them off the edge, using his legs to give them that extra push just in case.  
Tim, on the other hand, simply took Jason’s distraction as a window of opportunity, and soon he was sitting beside him with his legs crossed, his eyes and mind occupied with the screen before him. Jason merely brushed imaginary dust off his jacket with a quiet humph before repositioning himself in a way which allowed him to look over Tim’s shoulder, to catch a glimpse of whatever struck his mind. Though he promptly chose to simply await his explanation, growing bored at the mere glimpse at the documents Tim was hastily skimming in pursuit of… whatever he was looking for. 

Instead, he allowed himself a moment to simply lean back and observe his replacement. And not for the first time, he was struck by how beautiful he was.  
Sure, Dick was the one whose looks had the media and the other vigilantes in a tangle, but his attraction was more handsome, fit, sensual. 

Tim’s beauty was more akin to the ethereality of _The Princesse de Broglie_ , the deference commanded by Bouguereau’s _Birth of Venus_ , the reverent timelessness of the Three Graces.  
A faint blush crept upon his cheeks once he caught up with himself posting (thinking) cringe on main (his private mind).  
Thank god none of the Bats had any powers. Especially the ability to read minds, or whatever was up with Raven.

“Here!” Tim finally exclaimed, falling into another brief moment of silence before turning the tablet around to show Jason what must be a profile of some sort. The attached photo showed a woman with ebony skin and deep brown eyes, both gracefully elevated by her cobalt hijab. Despite the neutral expression presumably ordered, Jason couldn’t help but spot a glimpse of mischief in her eye. “Ms. Ahmadzai is the union representative,” he continued, and Jason’s gaze shifted towards his face instead, only to discover the distance between them to account for little but a cigarette. Before picking up his thread, Tim’s facial expression instead began to falter once more as the evidence of insecurity made their return, depriving his eyes of the glint of discovery, “Nevermind, it’s nothing,” he sighed, motioning to rise.

“You can’t say A without saying B,” Jason prodded, despite having a clue on where he was going. 

Hesitatingly, Tim settled once more, “I don’t know, for some reason it struck me that… What if it’s linked? What if Blackwood wasn’t attempting to drug _Ms.Ahmadzai_ , but that he was rather targeting the _Union representative_ ,” frowning, Tim looked as though he was holding an internal debate arguing whether he spoke like a witless conspiracy theorist or the detective Bruce had made him. 

Too caught up in his own head, Tim missed the grin spreading on Jason’s lips.  
“You really are the Robin with the brains, ain'tcha?” Jason said with far too much fondness, reaching out his hand to ruffle the smaller bird’s hair.

“Seems like we might just have found ourselves on the same goose chase, birdie.”


	2. Arise, ye wretched of the earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“...Why am I sitting in your lap?”_
> 
> _“...Uh,” Jason answered eloquently, suddenly aware of Tim’s thighs pressing against the outside of his own. Jason’s hands on his hips, holding him close. So close their chests were touching._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll post within the coming week," I said. Only to rewrite the entire chapter thrice before finding it even remotely apt for sharing.
> 
> Please pardon my delay. But for better news, at least I managed to spot a ton of unnecessary convolutions which did nothing but make the story longer and more boring - so instead of seven chapters, I'm instead looking at four or five. hell yeah.
> 
> (Chapter title is taken from Charles Hope Kerr's translation of _L'internationale_ )

“Watch your left,” Red Robin warned through the comm, urging Jason to duck before his brain had truly registered his words, causing his attacker to stumble and quickly make a fool out of himself. 

“Sweetheart,” He started with a teasing tone laced with aggravation, sweeping the legs out from under the stumbling figure. Abandoning his gritted teeth for a self-satisfied grin upon hearing the sharp inhale of breath on the other line “That was an easy target - you better not be growing sweet on me, are you?” he continued, punching another guy in the face, “You’ll make daddy devastated, to hear his darling son has been seduced by the big, bad, Red Hood.” He finished, releasing a chuckle as he knocked the heads of two of his attackers together, removing them from the equation.

They’d expected a small patrol, a handful of guards. What they’d met, was a small army of hirelings. Somehow, their arrival had been anticipated, and they were quickly growing exhausted fighting at far more ends than they really could maintain. 

“Haha,” Tim deadpanned in response just a second too late, finally arriving in Jason’s line of sight. Jumping out of the darkness from above like an angel clad in black leather, skillfully taking two guys twice his size down with him all the whilst simultaneously ensuring not to land any fatal strikes. Injuring them was inevitable if he wanted to get out alive, but a well-trained eye could see how Tim meticulously planned each and every hit, striking the perfect balance between insufficient slaps and lethal strikes.

Jason might disagree with the _efficacy_ of the method, but he couldn’t help but admit admiration to the prowess on display.  
In their line of work, not caring about whether one’s opponents may live or die once the dust has gathered was much easier than ensuring their survival.

Jason knocked out a guy to his six. Elbowed another in their solar plexus. Striking their back as they double over; kicking their legs out from under them. 

There weren’t too many of them willing to fight the Red Hood, even less willing to fight Red Hood and Red Robin. Shortly, those whose guns had emboldened them to stupidity had been knocked to the ground, leaving them with the crates motivating their arrival. Tim had spent half a day in front of his computer, fuelled by more coffee than Jason thought healthy, and came out with shady transactions between Mr. Blackwood’s various accounts and another suspicious actor handling a list of chemicals not required in his local industries, many of which were illegal substances even in Gotham. From there, he’d tracked the most recent order to Dixon Docks, identified the warehouse of interest and _voìla_ , here they were.

The image of the sleep deprived but satisfied grin which had graced Tim’s lips upon announcing his findings with bags beneath his eyes and a blanket around his shoulders yet lingered in his mind, and refused to pack its bags and go away - preferably bringing the annoying warmth that spread through his chest along with it. 

Once their final opponent had been knocked out, the two of them set to tie the unconscious bandit’s hands and feet together, preventing them from running away until Tim and Jason had reached a conclusion after arguing whether to call the police or not. (Jason found the police useless at best and a precarious aggravator at worst. Tim insisted they weren’t that bad.  
Bootlicker.)

“They knew we were coming,” Red Robin stated once they'd moved the last of the henchmen to a safe place on the sidewalk, tied up and certain not to cause any more trouble (at least for now). “How did they know we were coming?”

“Maybe it’s an instance where Gotham gotta’ Gotham, and Scarecrow just presumed some interference and sent an army just in case?” Jason suggested, not really believing his own argument, but without a better alternative. “Unless ya’ left them some clue you didn’t tell me about?” He didn’t say it accusingly, but he’d never bothered to get rid of that constant suspicion of everyone entrenched into him by Bruce.

Red Robin simply faced him with what Jason presumed to be a glare, though his anxious fingers refusing to stop their fiddling with his cape told Jason that Tim was going through every line of code in his head, searching for where he went wrong. 

“Whatever. We cleared ‘em out. Now let’s check if the delivery is the same or if he got us on that too.” Jason said, and with a nod they started walking towards the specific warehouse of interest. Once they entered and came face to face with the seemingly countless crates before them, they merely shared a look and made a silent agreement to start searching. 

Inwardly, Jason wished the villains of Gotham could muster up and cough up the sums needed for their own ships and planes of transport, sparing him the tedious task of locating their smuggled goods amongst other, perfectly standard, imports.

“Here it is,” Red Robin called out following 10 minutes of mindless searching, uncovering a crate from where it had been hidden near the westernmost corner on the same side as the entrance. As Jason left his place in the shadows on the opposite side of the room, Red Robin carefully unsealed the crate in front of him. Only to be thrown into a violent cough upon inhaling the dust escaping from their previous cell. 

“Hey, you good?” Jason asked, jogging up to the other vigilante, eyeing him concernedly underneath his helmet as his coughing continued a bit too long for comfort. Scare-sounding coughs, too. 

He made a mental note not to let Tim go off without taking time to ensure it wasn’t something more sinister than dust. He didn’t feel like getting in a tangent with the bats over his replacement just yet.

“I’m fine, just-” Red’s pitch escaped him, breaking his voice making him sound much like Damian for that one week before he made a pact of silence until his voice was under his control once more, “I’m fine.” he cleared his throat, returning his focus to the crate before them. 

Red Hood’s gaze followed that of his contemporary companion, though the relaxed stance his body had eased him into swiftly vanished in favour of high-strung tension upon seeing the contents on display before them.

It was empty.

Or, almost empty.

In the corner of his eye, he finds Tim leaning down to presumably disable the bomb.

Nuh-uh.

No way.

They had five seconds. And he didn’t feel like getting blown up.

He’d already been there, done that. Didn’t bother with the t-shirt.

“Hood-” Tim yelped as Jason threw him over his shoulder before running for the exit. Not missing how the streets outside had been cleared, empty of the people they’d knocked down mere minutes ago.

They’d been known.

Running as fast as his legs could bear him, Jason knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun the coming blast. Shuffling the small body over his shoulder, Jason shifted Tim over in his arms, preparing for impact - jeez Babybird _indeed_ , are they even feeding him?

Jason had barely secured his grip around the other bird when the warehouse behind them exploded, throwing the two of them forward with such force Jason was happy he hadn’t landed on his feet, as such impact would’ve certainly broken his legs. 

Instead, his shoulder bore the brunt of the crash, and though his armour saved him a great deal of pain, there was no way that bitch hadn’t at the very least been dislocated. Holding Tim close to his chest, Jason utilised his much larger frame much like a shield for his younger companion, inwardly blaming Bruce for instilling such protective instincts. Tim was more than capable of taking care of himself after all: next time he better be the one to bear the bruise.

(Though deep down Jason knew very well he wouldn’t let that happen.)

Once Newton’s second law finally graced them some mercy, Jason couldn’t help but take a brief second to silently bemoan their situation and let his gaze linger on the dark sky above. 

When Tim didn’t chide him for such recklessness (like the smaller and cuter version of Bruce he’d grown into), Jason knew something was amiss.

Fuck.  
Anything else that felt like going to shit tonight?

A whimper from below him urged his head downwards, where his eyes met the sight of Red Robin curling up on top of his chest, attempting to use Jason’s jacket to shield himself from the world.

 _Fuck_.

This couldn’t possibly bode well.

Ignoring his aching muscles, Jason slowly rose to a sitting position, shuffling backwards to lean against the bricks of the building behind him. Not needing to wrap his arms around Tim to ensure his stay, but embracing the smaller man regardless.

Looking around to ensure they were concealed by the shadows and smoke around them, Jason carefully removed Tim’s cowl, freeing his head and hair from the restricting leather, allowing the cowl to fall around his shoulders much like a hood.

As Tim continued to hide his face in his chest, Jason reached out to gently grasp his chin, slowly tilting his head upwards to meet his eyes. To his dismay, he found heavy fog glazing over terrified eyes, clearly dazed and obviously unseeing, rendering him unaware of the physical world.

Fear toxin. Cool cool. Cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool-

Swearing under his breath, Jason cursed his previous inaction (of course that fucking crate had contained something sketchy) as he unsuccessfully reached for the utility belt around his hips, dinding his path barred by the body in his lap.  
Sighing heavily, Jason awkwardly reached for Tim’s utility belt instead, trying not to feel creepy manhandling the other practically unconscious man.

It didn’t take long for Jason to locate the pouch containing various antidotes and other supplies for emergencies.

Thank god the younger bird had the good sense to keep his utility belt as organised as Bruce had taught them. Almost as if all that effort was for a reason or something.

“Hey, Babybird,” he spoke, calling for Tim’s attention as he reached for the correct remedy and prepared the syringe with ease from years of experience. “Timbo, Timmers, come back,” he spoke softly as he maneuvered the shot, stroking Tim’s head as he discarded the remaining syringe, breaking the needle as to prevent unsavory recreational use. 

Jason hadn’t participated in any mission including Scarecrow since Bruce had come up with the antidote, so he didn’t quite know how long he should expect to wait. However, as seconds turned to minutes, and no end to Tim’s state of terror arrived in sight, Jason soon grew anxious.

Okay. So the antidote might not work. 

So Scarecrow must’ve amped the recipe.

Cool. 

Good to know Gotham’s villains made sure to keep them on their toes.

Looking down at the quivering man in his lap, Jason felt his heart ache and he swiftly wrapped his arms around the younger bird once more, holding him tight, hoping that the sensation would register in Tim’s fear-addled mind, and that his identity would remain obscure and that his embrace instead conveyed a sense of familiarity and comfort.

”What you’re seeing isn’t real: Batman’s alive, so is Connor, Cassie, Bart, Stephanie. Everyone’s alive and well and _fine_.” Jason awkwardly whispered, trying to reassure the man in his arms and bring him back to reality, wishing Dick or Stephanie or Connor or anyone else were here.  
Preferably someone who hadn’t tried to murder him on multiple occassions, not to mention all the instances he sought to seriously injure him. Seriously, what was he doing? If Tim woke up now he’d just think he was still stuck in the fog, facing the helmet of his attempted killer.

“Tim? You’re stronger than this. Come on Timbo, are you really going to let a little fear gas take you? After surviving the massive earthquake and the resulting mess of that shit, outwitting Ra’s al Ghul, and beating the Joker, are you really going to allow Scarecrow and his gas to take you out?” he continued, moving his hands to grasp the sides of Tim’s head after ridding himself of his helmet and mask, trying to pry conscious back into those steely blues by staring with enough determination.

Jason was uncertain for how long they remained there.  
When the firefighters finally arrived, Jason merely moved them further into the shadows, where they remained until the remaining fire had been put out.

It didn’t escape him that no ambulance had been called, and that the henchmen they’d been fighting earlier than night had mysteriously vanished into thin air.

Almost like they’d been mere distraction, as if their loss had been planned.  
Almost. Maybe. Possibly. 

Maybe kind of most definitely and Jason couldn’t wait to get his hands on those bastards. He hated being outwitted, nevertheless by a scheme that should be so transparent.

Instead of turning to anger and running off to beat up some unfortunate member of one of the many cartels filling the city with drugs, Jason continued to whisper what he hoped were reassurances in Tim’s ears, urging him to fight against the appalling illusions he was most definitely facing.

More time passed, and Jason was about to call Oracle and interrupt her case with the Birds of Prey when the impenetrable haze looming beneath Tim’s eyelids finally began to ease. Jason’s awkward words of encouragement revitalised, trying to support the other’s return to reality. 

“Timbo, can you hear me? Follow my voice, or something, yeah? Come on big brains, Scarecrow’s got nothing on ya’, you hear?” Jason continued, hoping his words didn’t make his supportive ineptitude too obvious. It was too gauche to say out loud but honestly? Part of what made Scarecrow _such_ a pain in the ass was the awkward charade one was forced to do trying to goad the others back to reality.

Fuck he wanted to strange that son of a bitch.

Yet another whine forced his attention back to Tim, whose blinking eyes seemed to become increasingly clear for each blink. 

He could plan for Scarecrow’s murder later. For now, he should focus on Tim.

“Babybird, you with me?” Jason prompted once again, sitting up straight as Tim’s head left his shoulder, lifting his hands to rub his eyes. And upon finally meeting Jason’s gaze once more, his eyes were no longer skewed by gloom, but instead he was looking into those steely blues which had grown far more familiar than he’d ever expected.

“... Jason?” Tim asked, the tone of his voice resembling the grave confusion clear in his eyes. 

Tilting his head down, Tim seemed to take a look at his hands, only to immediately shoot his head up again, eyeing him with an alarming look, “Why are we on the streets, mask-less?” he questioned sternly, and were Jason not too occupied feeling relief, he’d roll his eyes at how painfully similar to Bruce he was. 

“ _Oh thank you Jay for saving me from a life cursed by fear, you’re my hero!_ ” Jason replied mockingly, though his heart was beating far too quickly for any malice to bite. “Calm down babybird, I’m also keen on keeping my identity secret, I wouldn’t allow us to be found out,” he continued, though his voice remained too genuine for his liking. “Besides, I know you’ve skipped the cowl when seeing your dear Superboy before. Boyfriend’s not a fan of the cowl either?” he teased, “Can’t blame ‘im, if I were dating someone as cute as you I’d want their face on display as well.” 

Fuck. That’s too much. Abort Abort Abort Abor-

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Tim mumbled as he made sure to cover his face and don the cowl once more, “And the cowl’s meant to keep my identity a secret, not to make me look good or whatever,” he continued awkwardly, seemingly looking everywhere but at Jason.

“...Why am I sitting in your lap?”

“...Uh,” Jason answered eloquently, suddenly aware of Tim’s thighs pressing against the outside of his own. Jason’s hands on his hips, holding him close. So close their chests were touching. 

Well there was a blast and you were about to try and disable the bomb - a dumb idea, by the by, there was no way you would’ve disarmed it within 5 seconds - so I threw you over my shoulder and ran out and then I changed my grip so when the blast hit I was holding you against my chest and then I discovered that you were under the influence of fear gas and-

“You don’t remember?” he replied dumbly, and despite the phrasing it hardly sounded anything like a question, ignoring his internal rambling. “Did you hit your head or something?” he enquired, steering the question off to another direction, moving his hands to instead search for any bumps along Tim’s scalp, knowing very well there were none. 

“Uhm,” Tim answered. A fellow man of culture, oh if the great orators of Rome could hear the two of them. “No, I’m fine,” he stated with a puzzled look, coercing a rumbling laugh to crawl its way up Jason’s throat.  
A laugh which swiftly lured Tim to join in. Leaving the two unmasked vigilantes failing to laugh quietly by their lonesome in a dark alley, hiding behind garage bins. 

“Why are we laughing?” Tim giggled after what seemed like half an eternity, wiping the tears running down his cheek with the back of his arms, only to be thrown in another fit of laughter.

“Does it matter?” Jason replied cheekily, throwing his head backwards against the wall, laughing at nothing.

Had they encountered the Joker and his damned laughing gas, or what?

It took another few minutes for the two to gather their bearings, with Tim buried his face in Jason’s shoulder, catching his breath. 

Of course, reality soon came barging in.

Reality, in this instance, was a scowling brat dressed in tights.

“Would you look at that. The outcasts of the Bat canoodling. How appropriate.”

As though he’d been struck by lightning, Tim jumped off him, pulling his cowl over his face as he took a standing position, skillfully masking his windling balance with a shift of position. 

Jason, on the other hand, was too busy trying not to giggle at the kid’s use of the word _canoodling_.

“Voyeurism isn’t a good look, Robin” Tim glared at Damian, crossing his arms over chest. 

Jason hid his wince by picking up his helmet again.

Really, Tim? Accusing someone of _voyeurism_? You?

Standing up, Jason sent Tim a look from beneath his helmet, eyes questioning the disappearance of the quickwit he’d engaged in a battle of words enough times to expect better.

“Those residing in glass houses ought not throw stones,” Damian smirked, and at least Tim had the decency to don an indignant look the moment the brat opened his mouth. “Truly, Drake. There is no need to worry - you are the only stalker to ever disgrace the cape.” The brat’s self-satisfied smirk only grew, and Jason was torn between cheering him on and his heart ache upon seeing Tim tense up.

“Robin.” A dark voice interrupted, and from the shadows rose the Dark Knight.

Great. Just dandy. Of course this couldn’t be one of those nights when Damian was fucking around with Supes’ son. 

“Red Robin, Red Hood. Status?” Batman nodded in their direction, sending Jason an extra look of what he imagined to be suspicion.

A grin spread on his lips.  
So he found enjoyment in stepping on the old man’s nerves, sue him.

“Investigation of suspicious cargo connected to Scarecrow gone bust,” Tim reported dutifully, hesitating slightly before adding “I was affected by Scarecrow’s fear gas. It was disguised as dust inside the crate, but it’s effects took a couple of minutes before kicking in.” another slight pause “I did not administer any antidote.”

“I did.” Jason jumped in, “Didn’t work.” he glanced at Batman, who faced them with the same sternity as always.

“Red Hood. Did you interact with this crate as well?” 

Jason sighed. He suspected he knew where the bat was heading.

And he didn’t like it one bit.

“He was across the room when I opened it, but soon joined my side,” Tim stated before Jason had the chance to open his mouth and lie.

Traitor.

“But you were not affected?”

“Nope” he replied nonchalantly, popping the p.

“Hm.” the Bat hummed, “Red Robin, please follow us to the manor. Red Hood,” Bruce turned to him, “It would be beneficial if you were to accompany us as well. I want to run tests on this new fear gas. Especially if it remains effective after lying dormant.” 

Hell no.

Sure, him and the Bat did get along better these days. But his fingers still itched for his guns whenever they were alone for more than fifteen minutes.

Besides, hanging at the manor wasn’t what he considered a good time.

He turned his head to look at Bruce and declined when his gaze caught hold of Tim looking at him with what Jason somehow read as hopeful eyes through his cowl. And before he knew it he could hear his own voice say accept the invitation to his and the other’s equal shock.

What the fuck.

He had to get a _grip_.

For now, he’d blame it on the emotional intensity of the night. But if it got any worse from here on he seriously needed to deal with it somehow.  
He was acting like a love-struck puppy.  
Ew. 

The other three all stared at him in shock.

Which is to say, they stared at him with what any outsider would call an emotionless stare, but according to the paradigm of bat expressions, they might as well have lost their jaws.

Ugh.

Feeling uncomfortable in the limelight, Jason spared little time before unleashing his grappling hook, moving towards the manor, surprising himself once again for sticking to it.

At least he’d be able to see Alfred.

~~And spend some more time with Tim.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be longer but I've got another Hectic Week before me so I decided to get it out before scratching it and starting over again. I swear I am fully capable of writing chapters transcending the confinements of one location. Really. Promise.
> 
> Also, I swear the Fake Dating / Relationship tag isn't for show - it'll come into play either next chapter or the chapter thereafter depending upon how long it ends up being. 
> 
> Anyways thank you for reading and once more I really do appreciate any kudos and especially comments, and hope to see you with the next update.  
> (Moreover, if anyone's got some time to spare and would like to beta-read, I'd really appreciate some help since I have the unfortunate habit of sending my texts out to the void before reading them through in order not to get stuck in perpetual cycles of rewrites.)


	3. For justice thunders condemnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He moved even closer, swiftly and gracefully grabbing gentle hold of Tim’s chin, moving his head to look him in the eye, allowing Tim to stare back into beautiful hazel, whose swirling Lazarus green waged an endless war against its amber opponent; a battle which finally had turned to the latter's favour._
> 
> _“Do you quarrel, sir?”_
> 
> _The bastard _purred_._
> 
> _“Uhm,” Tim swallowed nervously, hoping Jason wouldn’t notice his trembling (and sweaty, gross) hands “...No?”_
> 
> _To which Jason burst out laughing. The genuine kind that took hold of you and made your insides hurt._  
>  _Tim felt a warmth so intense spread through him he felt like he was going to condense._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially planned to make this chapter more than twice as long, but decided to keep the upcoming events for the next chapter instead in order to get this out sooner.
> 
> Also, remember how I claimed to have already written basically everything but the final chapter & some edits? Yeah, turns out those 'edits' is me re-writing the whole thing at least once.  
> I am a disaster.
> 
> (chapter title from Charles Hope Kerr's translation of _L'Internationale_ ~~yes i am regretting making this commitment but we're too far gone now~~ )

They ended up in quarantine.

It really was to be expected. They’d been subjected to a formula of fear gas which had not only been modified in order to render their antidote useless, but had also gained the ability to linger and await its victims. The implications of which has the potential to be disastrous, since this development would allow Scarecrow to institute a reign of terror from afar, making their job of stopping him that much more difficult.

He’d been thrown off guard by Bruce _politely requesting_ Jason’s cooperation whilst he would, according to Tim, almost be right to command his presence at the manor considering his exposure to a fear gas that didn’t necessarily take hold of its victims’ minds immediately, but was capable of lingering. Then Jason actually accepted the invite, and thus Tim’s final brain cells ultimately made the decision to take the rest of the night off.

Not that it mattered too much. He’d seemingly been getting by on low-power mode the whole evening.

Opening that crate without equipping a mask had been inconceivably foolish of him. Reckless. Irresponsible.

He was supposed to be the clever one, yet here he was, acting like a clown.

With a frustrated groan, Tim started banging his head against the wall he’d been leaning against, hoping to kill the stupid braincells in favour of the less dumb ones. Ignoring the back of his mind fussing that _that’s not how it actually works…_

God he was annoying.  
How could anyone stand him.  
He made sure to put more force behind his next knock.  
All he wanted was enough force to feel slight pain, yet staying outside the realms of bruising.

“Timbo? You doing alright there, buddy?” He heard Jason chuckle from the other side of the room, urging Tim to freeze as what he was sure was a furious blush spread across his cheeks.

Ah.

That’s right.

He wasn’t alone.

 _You Are Not a Clown. You Are the Entire Circus_ the part of his mind that kept him doom-scrolling down twitter chanted. With a voice eerily similar to Stephanie’s.

“Could you do me a favour and please forget that happened?” Tim whined, grimacing upon hearing the whinging tone of his voice, scrunching his nose for only the wall to see.

“No can do babybird, in Dick’s absence I’m afraid that I am obliged to remember all the embarrassing things you do, to ensure that you’ll be teased about it later.” Jason replied cheekily, urging Tim to turn his head and send him a glare, preparing a witty reply which would leave him defenseless.

Once his eyes landed upon his target, however, Tim was painfully reminded of the reason why he’d been so intent on avoiding looking at Jason in the first place.

He was wearing nothing but his underwear ~~(black trunks, brandless)~~. Bruce had offered a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from his own wardrobe, since Jason, unlike Tim, didn’t keep at least one set of extra clothing at the manor. Jason, however, refused, seizing the chance to taunt Bruce over his narrower shoulders, (falsely) claiming that his clothing couldn’t possibly fit him.

Damian shut him up by reminding him that Bruce remained the taller of the two.

Tim had been rolling his eyes. Only to be subject to yet another insolent comment of Damian’s regarding his height and stature. 

In his fifteenth year, Damian had finally grown taller than Tim, and he was infuriatingly satisfied with the whole ordeal.

Though Tim had yet to outgrow arguing incessantly with Damian, he couldn’t be bothered to ever take the size-bait. His height and size hadn’t bothered him since he was in school, when his lack of height seemed like the end of the world.

Once he’d faced the actual ending of the world, it didn’t feel like that big a deal anymore.

He shrugged, willing himself not to wander down that depressing line of thought. Those memories had already been entertained once this evening and he wasn’t keen to return.

Blinking, Tim focused his eyes upon Jason once more, only to find him wearing a facial expression awaiting Tim’s response.

Uh.

Did he say something?

“What?” Tim asked dumbly, scolding himself inwardly for what felt like the umpteenth time the past few hours. Why couldn’t his brain just cooperate and pay attention for once?

“I asked if you could round up your little self-hating session to instead entertain your dear guest. It’s quite rude to leave me unattended, y’know,” Jason huffed jokingly, his act betrayed by an unrelenting grin.

“I wasn’t- How did you-” Tim stumbled, feeling like an awkward teenager all over again.

 ~~Well technically, he still was a teenager...~~ Shut up.

“Reflecting upon mistakes is vital as to prevent their repetition.” he replied, sounding far more professional than he felt, sitting on the floor in a pair of sweatpants and an old Batman-shirt he’d never had the heart to throw away.

“Whatever babybird. You’re done for today. Lighten up,” Jason said before leaving his position on the floor, where he’d been glaring at the back of Bruce’s head as the latter worked on finding any trace of toxin on their uniforms. 

Oh no he was walking straight towards him.

Oh no he was sitting down right next to him.

Calm down, Tim. It is only your extremely attractive childhood hero sitting next to you wearing nothing but his underwear and _oh my god he’s so warm_.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve been locked in a glass cage without anything to entertain ourselves with. There really isn’t much to do besides analyzing the mission and planning our next steps.” Tim’s voice was surprisingly calm, and once more he thanked Bruce for his insistence upon teaching him how to keep calm and not give away his emotional state under any situation. Not that he’d intended it for this, but still.

“You wound me,” Jason answered dramatically, “Is it the shape of my fingers which rouse your flame of hatred?” 

“... What” Tim stated, confusion written all over his face. What was he talking about? What kind of reference is that?

Jason started chuckling, but before Tim had the chance to consider whether he should feel embarrassed or not, Jason sent him a look with an unmistakable glint of… fondness. It made Tim’s heart soar and his cheeks flush. “Sorry, it’s a stupid reference,” he leaned his head back against the wall, his prominent Adam’s apple moving slightly as he continued to laugh, “It’s from The Picture of Dorian Grey and like, it’s a throw-away line said by Basil in the midst of a long jumble of words during his pseudo-breakdown when his trust in and admiration of Dorian as this pure and innocent figure is faced by the rumours circulating, depicting Dorian as this figure of sin and depravation,” he tilted his head once more to face him, “I don’t know why but I can’t stop thinking about it,” the tone in which he said it bore the stability of utter seriousness, and his suddenly stern expression only added to the air of gravitas suddenly hovering above them.

Jason only shattered the momentary sobriety with a snicker once Tim began questioning his initial presumption of it being a joke.

Bastard.

“What about you, Timbo? Is there any line from some book you’ve read which refuses to leave you alone? Do you have any expression which you ponder when you’re alone and your phone is dead?”

…  
Not really.

“I was more into maths,” Tim answered, choosing not to mention his preference of video games over the literary arts.

~~Truth is he couldn’t even remember the last book he read that wasn’t for school or a case.~~

“Of course.” Jason started, “And as everyone knows, once you’ve dedicated yourself to counting 1,2,3, you wholly forget about your A,B,Cs.”

“I must say that I never anticipated you to be so pretentious. Doesn’t really fit your whole ‘I’m from the streets my life has been so tough blah blah blah’- aesthetic,” Tim teased, but in the back of his mind he made a note to learn whether or not Jason was interested in ballet as well, and whether Cassandra would like some company attending any of her shows.

“Art belongs to everyone, and should not be held hostage by the upper echelons of society. I am fully capable of quoting Shakespeare without losing an ounce of my street-cred, thank you very much.” 

“I don’t know, you don’t have me convinced. The whole ‘ _Do you bite your thumb at me, sir_ ’ thing really is kinda’ lame.

Jason chuckled, and turned his head towards him with a cheeky grin with a challenging look in his eyes, “ _I do bite my thumb, sir._ ”

God if only the rogues of Gotham knew what a giant nerd hid beneath that intimidating mask.

~~_Tim was so attracted to him right now._ ~~

“ _Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?_ ” he recited carefully, forcing his brain to go back to his High School English classes. He was quite certain they did repeat that line twice; really drags the dialogue but whatever. Tim was too busy quoting Shakespeare with his childhood-crush-turned-attempted-murderer-turned-favoured-acquaintance to consider said work. 

Jason rewarded him with a grin.

Hell yeah.

“ _No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir._ ” 

He moved even closer, swiftly and gracefully grabbing gentle hold of Tim’s chin, moving his head to look him in the eye, allowing Tim to stare back into beautiful hazel, whose swirling Lazarus green waged an endless war against its amber opponent; a battle which finally had turned to the latter's favour.

_“Do you quarrel, sir?”_

The bastard _purred_.

“Uhm,” Tim swallowed nervously, hoping Jason wouldn’t notice his trembling (and sweaty, gross) hands “...No?”

To which Jason burst out laughing. The genuine kind that took hold of you and made your insides hurt.  
Tim felt a warmth so intense spread through him he felt like he was going to condense. 

Then there was a knock against the glass caging them, and all of a sudden reality came barging in. 

“I’ve analysed the test results, and from what I can gather, you should be fine.” Bruce reported, as tight-lipped as ever, “Though I am reluctant to see you leave before morning since the sample was too small to provide any conclusive results.” 

“What he means to say,” Alfred quipped, walking gracefully towards them, arriving at Bruce’s side, “Is that you are very welcome to spend the night. I have prepared your chambers, and shall serve your preferred meals in the morrow if that’ll manage to sway your mind.” 

A brief silence fell over them, only broken by Jason’s chuckle.

“Well, no one with an ounce of sanity would turn down an invite like that,” Jason replied, sending a gentle smile in Alfred’s direction, and an affirmative nod to Bruce.

Tim couldn’t help but get distracted by the line of his nose, the shape of his jaw, never ceasing fire in his eyes. The black curls forming on his head, resisting his restless attempts to keep them straight. All surrounding that one stripe of white at the front.

He caught himself before he accidentally released a dreamy sigh.

He was supposed to be this skilful vigilante, capable of outmanoeuvring even the Demon’s Head regardless of the centuries behind him. He’d gone undercover with Batman himself, fooling henchmen and adversaries alike.  
And yet here he was, acting with the subtlety of a high schooler.

… 

Wait.  
They were looking at him.  
Ah, he had forgotten to give an answer.

“Thank you for your generosity,” he said politely, going on rich-boy-manners autopilot, “And for your thoughtfulness, Alfred.”

Bruce nodded at them, looking as though there was something he wanted to say, but ultimately decided not to.

~~God that man was awkward.~~

Upon rising from his seat on the floor, Tim could finally feel the ache of his sore muscles echo through his limbs. A throbbing pain from which he was only slightly relieved after a quick stretch cut short once he realised Jason was looking at him with what he assumed was impatience.

Whoops. Better do that once he was alone and wasn’t keeping the other vigilante stuck in an empty glass cage wearing nothing but his underwear.

Did Tim mention that said vigilante was super hot and not wearing anything and really attractive?

His eyes must've lingered a second too long upon his impressive pecs since Jason met him with a teasing look and a raised eyebrow once he returned his gaze to the man’s face.

Shit.

The following twenty minutes passed by in a blur as the two were carefully examined once more before they were finally checked out and allowed inside the manor. 

Tim didn’t even bother to withhold chortle as Alfred the Cat brazenly shunned Jason’s attempt to pet him upon their encounter in the hallway. Only to further show his dismay by completely ignoring his calls, instead retreating to Damian’s quarters.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised the brat’s pets share his temperament,” Jason complained, before setting his eyes on Tim once again, who was yet snickering and seemingly incapable of stopping. “Shut up, babybird.”

Tim opened his mouth to answer when Alfred approached them, choosing to instead stay silent to hear what the older man had to say. Sending him a look of affirmation, Alfred responded with a slight, but graceful bow in gratitude.

“Master Tim, Master Jason, please pardon my interruption,” he started, “I merely wished to inform you, Master Jason, that the books you requested during your last visit have since arrived,” 

Alfred was hardly given the chance to finish before Jason threw him a quick, yet undoubtedly grateful, “Thank you,” in Alfred’s direction before turning around the corner further down the hall with a spring in his step Tim was unsure he’d ever seen before. 

Glancing up at Alfred, Tim gazed into eyes full of fondness, and though no words were shared, Tim still felt like they had some sort of moment, albeit one he couldn’t describe.

“I believe you’d best head after him, lest he spends the rest of the night with his nose buried in some books,” Alfred smiled a paternal smile, and Tim’s heart turned itself inside out.

He nodded affirmatively, though they both knew Tim was the last person to entrust such a task.

Tim had been planning on catching up with the assignment due the next day, but he supposed he could wrap it up during lunch.

Sharing one final nod in Alfred’s direction in lieu of bidding farewell, Tim headed for the library at a brisk pace. Hardly trying to convince himself that this was totally a bro thing. no homo.  
Gay? Crushing on (one of) the man(men) who once tried to kill him? Him? He would neve-

Jason was standing in front of one of the grande bookshelves with an open book in his arms, his mind already submerged in the text before him. Brows furrowed in concentration, his golden brown skin adapting a more mellow shade in the moonlight, reflecting an enchanting sepia. 

Jason was standing in his undressed glory, bathed in moonlight, his profile turned towards the entrance, leaving Tim a perfect view of his sharp jawline, of his long and lush eyelashes, and the of the bump along the bridge of his nose left remnant after ceaseless broken bones left unattended.

He looked like a piece of art, as though he’d been sculpted from marble by the Greeks themselves in their perpetual pursuit for perfection.

The scene swiftly crumbled before him, however, as he clumsily threaded forwards, his left foot landing upon one of the creaking floorboards, revealing his presence.

Their eyes met, each frozen in their position, only their breathing differentiating them from statues. 

Tim instantly rued his intrusion. He felt like he’d interfered upon something private, something reverent. As though he’d desecrated a venerated site.

He wasn’t even aware of the breath he’d been holding until Jason’s inviting grin made him release it.

“Ah, Timbo, I see you’ve found your way to my secret lair,” he joked, and Tim quickly acquiesced as Jason waved him over, “Now, let me proceed to my monologue detailing my secret plan, unveiling its weaknesses and vulnerabilities in explicit detail,”

Tim laughed as he took a seat in the nearby loveseat, only to be joined by Jason soon thereafter, now armed with three additional books, each thicker than the last.

“What’s this new book Alfred spoke about?” he asked, selfishly refusing to yield before the silence Jason required to read. “I didn’t even know you were here often enough to make requests,”

“I’m not.” Jason said before tearing his eyes from the page, “Alfred’s just nice like that,” he shifted in his seat, positioning himself turning him towards Tim. “And it’s _The Lord of the Flies_. I’ve already read it, and it’s not the kind of book I imagine myself reading over and over again, but I do return to it ever so often, y’know?”

Tim couldn’t help but frown. He’d been forced to read that one in school. “Sorry, but you cannot expect me to casually joke about a book ranting about how much humanity sucks, proclaiming that people are inherently shitty and that there will be no peace.”

The speed at which Jason’s facial expression fell was immediate, and Tim couldn’t help but waver upon hearing the disappointment in the heavy sigh that followed.

“Look, I know that is a popular take or whatever but,” he started, putting the book down in order to free his hands, “I refuse to let a bunch of spoiled white boys represent humanity, y’know what I’m saying? Instead, I’ve always read it as a critique of the genre ‘White Boys Replicate British Society When Washed Ashore On Foreign Lands’, which was way popular at the time” he rolled his eyes, and the playfulness Tim had foolishly let himself fall for returned to his features, “In other words, I would contend that _The Lord of the Flies_ doesn’t pertain itself a verdict on humanity. Rather, it poses an opposition to contemporary notions rehearsing the _White Man’s Burden_ , deriding the colonialist lie that only the White Man was capable of order and civilisation and that he alone was destined to bring with him civilisation around the world, taming even its darkest corners. Saving all from the terror of chaos.” he paused, “It’s colonialist rationale yet integral to western society. Presenting its exploitation as mercy.”

Tim had never heard Jason talk like this before. In fact, he was uncertain whether he’d ever heard of someone else having heard Jason talk like this before. Sure, he was aware that the guy liked to read, and that this interest included classic literature, modern and _classic_ classics alike. But the way he talked about the story, confidently analysing it and seeing past the written word to gather meaning. It... was pretty hot.

Yet another thing for Tim to find unfairly attractive about him. If Jason didn’t try to kill him again in the near future Tim was afraid he would be rendered a pathetic mess whenever in close proximity to the man. 

“I…” he started, forgetting what he meant to say the instance he opened his mouth, “I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he unintentionally said it as a question in a desperate attempt not to turn the conversation sombre. 

How did Jason manage to balance a light tone with all of that?

“You mean the book you read in high school hasn’t been occupying your mind since it was assigned?” Jason joked, seemingly a bit sheepish about his previous outburst, “Never mind me, babybird,” he continued, before leaning forwards slightly, looking as though he had something more to say, urging Tim to unknowingly replicate the motion. “In fact, I need you to forget this ever happened. This might threaten my reputation.”

“So you agree that reciting Shakespeare does harm your tough/street/bad-boy image?” 

“No way, art is metal.” Jason stated without a tinge of hesitation to his voice, “Talking like those bastard academics though? That crap is lame as fuck. Anyone using words with synonyms more easily understood deserves a punch in the face.”

“I don’t think you made yourself incomprehensible though-”

“‘Pertain’? ‘Contemporary’? ‘Deride’? Referencing a hundred-year-old poem in aid of my argument?” He raised an eyebrow, “Baby, I sound like one of ‘em bougie hipsters talking about other people’s actual struggle whilst sipping their double-digit tea,” He straightened his back, putting his book down to hold an imaginary cup. Making a show of holding out his pinky.  
“You see, Joshua, my primary concerns aren’t over revisionism vs dogmatism, internationalism vs nationalism, or the class nature of the state. None of these ideological views can be adequately confirmed or denied while the dominant imperialist power, the US, is allowed to exist. Now, let us proceed and elucidate the poor about their irresponsible consumption of non-ecological products.” he rambled in an adopted posh, trans-Atlantic accent

Either Tim’s lack of sleep was catching up to him, or he was far too easily amused. But the absurd scene before him in which the Red Hood, clad in nothing but his underwear, reenacted an imaginary spiel of some upper-middle-class adolescent with a superiority complex made him lose it, and soon he was laughing so hard he struggled to breathe.

Jason soon joined him, and they shared a pleasant laugh which probably lasted longer than the joke truly deserved. As it simmered down they noticed they’d moved closer to one another. Close enough for Tim to feel Jason’s breath touch his lips, and the brink of his nose interrupted the path of his blinking eyelashes.

Neither made any motion to retreat, instead, they kept each other’s gaze hostage. Tim observed the slight brush of fleck freckles spread across Jason’s cheeks in an echo of his tawny skin, only visible up close. His eyes followed the crooked line of his nose, which despite its misadventures yet managed to resemble a shape worthy of a Roman god. His hazel eyes were lit by a playful glint which made Tim want to blush, and for at least this moment his golden hues reigned without the presence of any Lazarus corruption.

Tim wanted to move closer. To finally feel those soft lips against his own. Momentarily forgetting to deprecate himself for their parched state.

“Please pardon my intrusion,” Alfred suddenly said, revealing his presence by the library’s entrance. “I do hope I am not interrupting,” he continued, not even trying to conceal the sideway smile which unabashedly conveyed his full awareness that he was, indeed, most definitely interrupting. “However, I am afraid I must ask you to kindly retreat to your chambers. The hour is late and I would like to make sure you get at least a few hours of sleep this week,” Abandoning all discretion, Alfred made full eye contact with Tim as he spoke his final addition, eliminating any uncertainty regarding the intended audience.

Upon hearing his voice, Tim leapt backwards in retreat with such haste he could feel his body briefly abandon its dependence upon the couch for support, passing through the air if only for a margin of a second. Without thinking, he quickly took hold of one of Jason’s bricks, opening it up in a poor attempt of deception. His eyes totally not running to their corners to get a view of Jason.

Jason, on the other hand, adopted a confident grin as a means to distract and redirect attention away from his peachy cheeks and reddening ears. He made a show of returning to the book before him, pretending as though he hadn't been a moment away from taking hold of Tim's waist and pulling him onto his lap.

He only realised he was holding the book upside down upon Alfred’s departure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some real bad jokes I was stoked to share down here, but no, instead you'll have to bear with me as I go whinging.  
> Fact is, I would really appreciate some feedback regarding this chapter's characterisation. I really am extremely uncertain about their portrayal in this chapter, especially pertaining to the second half. Now, I did consider re-writing all of it again, but due to my excitement to write the next chapter and move on I got hesitant, as I'm also unsure whether this is merely an instance ye good ole' of self-doubt (I was similarly unsure about my characterisation in chapter one) or whether I'm correct to question my portrayal (bc it's not good(bad)).
> 
> (i also discovered that i wrote tim with adhd far too late and decided to keep it since that's way easier for me, a person with adhd. but idk what do y'all think if i was writing this for no one but myself i wouldn't post it so.)
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to mention, Jason’s imitation of bougie adolescents using big words making no sense is not originally written by me. Instead, I copied a tweet from an Actual Serious Person posted a couple of months ago (i added the ”let’s elucidate the poor”-part but we all know they were thinking it). So yes, there are people like this. They are real.


	4. A better world's in birth!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When their eyes met the seconds slowed down to minutes once more, and Tim could think of nothing but the faint scars cutting through Jason’s lip and nose only discoverable this close. He thought of the neatness of his eyebrows, and the evidently plucked remains between them. Of the minuscule birthmark resting mere millimeters below his lower lashline._   
>  _He had no idea for how long he’d been staring, but when he finally surrendered to Jason’s captivating hazel he found that his eyes were already waiting for him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again I planned for this chapter to be at least twice as long, and yet again I choose to release part of it as an independent chapter in order not to go too long without updating. It's more than four thousand words still so I hope it fares alright regardless?
> 
> Sidenote: Some of you might remember that I established the date as early July back in chapter one? Yeah, please ignore that I changed my mind and I am a menace.
> 
> Chapter title is from... you guessed it, Eugene Pottier's translation of _L'internationale_.

“Babybird, you live like this?” Jason spoke, his face and voice alike conveying naught but shock.  
Tim couldn’t help but look away sheepishly. Jason’s reaction was not only justified but honestly better than he’d expected. After all, Tim’s apartment was one whole mess. There were books and papers scattered all over his floor, his _the chair_ had been stuffed full to the point where a hoodie and a pair of trousers had found their way out of his room and onto his sofa, all accompanied by old dishes and remaining takeout boxes littering every surface.

In his defense, between Red Robin, university, Wayne Enterprises, and Stephanie’s desperate attempts to give him a social life, there was little time left for cleaning - and if there would be a free hour in his busy schedule, it was typically arranged by the other bats in order to force him to sleep.

“I’m afraid so,” Tim replied regretfully before heading towards his desk, searching among the countless papers covering its surface, trying to identify the pile which hid his laptop.

He caught a glance into his bedroom. Well, at least his bed was made? ~~Not that his bed or bedroom was relevant haha fuck why am I like this~~

“As I said before, we really do not need to stay. I have a safehouse which I hardly use closeby, I only need my laptop and then we can be on our way,” Tim rambled as he picked up his laptop, carefully scooting the intimidating pile of books and papers to the side without causing them to tumble over. 

Super-strength, super-speed, and telepathy in all their glory, but if he would gain the opportunity to get a superpower, he might just request to become a tidy person.

“Nah it’s fine. It’s clean, just messy, I’ve seen way worse,” Jason stated, his voice more relaxed once past initial reaction. “Though I was expecting a penthouse from a rich boy like you. What happened, did Bruce grow stingy all of a sudden?”

“People say that but I am going to keep suspecting all of you of lying,” Tim answered casually. Truth was that Tim _wished_ people were lying when they claimed his mess was ‘fine, actually,’. He simply bore too much respect for his friends to believe their perception to be so poor. “And this is the apartment I first got when I moved out,” ~~when my parents died~~ “It’s not as fancy as the others, but it’s mine,” he concluded, not expecting himself to sound so… vulnerable? He didn’t know how to describe it, only that it left him feeling exposed.

“Anyways, let me just move my clothes to my room and throw away the remnants from the takeout, and my living room should be fine.” he continued, changing the topic.

“Yo, babybird, pro tip: if they’re dirty, just throw them in the laundry. If they’re clean, just put them back in your wardrobe,” Jason called after him, taking a seat on his sofa. Tim assumed he was mocking him, but his voice was far too genuine for him to be certain. Nevertheless, he didn’t care much since at least the topic of conversation, be it bland banter, had changed.

“I’ve worn them once - meaning they’re too clean to discard but not clean enough for the closet,” Tim called back as he entered his room, for a moment considering to take a risk and add them to the unstable pile on his chair, but chose instead to discard them on his bed.

“Then why don’t you just wear them once more so you can throw them away?”

“ _Because_ they’re not clean enough to wear in class or whatever, however since I’m at uni for like half a day and then have to change to a suit for Wayne Enterprises, the pile only keeps growing. But I don’t want to wash them prematurely because that’s wasteful and ruins your stuff,” Tim complained, grabbing the empty takeout box on the coffee table before taking it to the kitchen to wash it out and throw it in the trash.

“‘Tis a rough life you’re living,” Jason teased, his eyes still too kind for Tim to genuinely believe he was being mocked. Ugh, this was confusing.

“Shut up,” he mumbled in response, distracting himself by taking out the whiteboard from the closet, making sure to grab a couple of pens as he did so. 

“Anyways. Scarecrow - do we suspect him as the brain, or merely paid accomplice, his involvement going no further than the provision of his toxin?” Tim queried, posing the question for both of them as a starting point.

“Isn’t Scarecrow more in favour of some grande-extra? As in, isn’t he one of those never leaving any room for doubt about the culprit?” Jason spoke as he approached Tim’s side, exchanging his playful demeanour for that of a detective in the blink of an eye. 

“Scarecrow _is_ very well capable of subtlety, remember his and Calendar Man’s ploy to manipulate Alberto Falcone?”

“Fuck, yeah you’re right. ’Tis hard to keep track of all the fuckery happening in this city,” Jason shivered performatively, “Remember the fucked up Christmas dolls shit he pulled? Man, all these fucks are heinous but the ones targeting children? The worst.”

“Yeah,” Tim sighed, “It’s difficult trying to predict the actions of people hardly aware of themselves. He’s clearly not acting out of his own volition, and yet that only makes him more dangerous.” he mused, voicing the thoughts constantly occupying his mind whenever they faced any of their adversaries vulnerable to spouts of insanity. One of the very first lessons Bruce had given him in preparation to become Robin concerned his moral philosophy after all, and it stuck with him. Bruce had made a painstaking effort to clarify that his refusal to kill wasn’t merely to establish some kind of moral superiority or whatever, but that the alternative would render him their moral inferior in no position to pass judgement. After all, there’s plenty of reasons that most of their adversaries are destined to Arkham Asylum rather than prison. They are sick and in need of help, deemed incapable of exercising free will.  
Tim could still remember Bruce talking about moral responsibility versus causal responsibility as though it happened yesterday. He’d already been an avid admirer of Batman the Superhero, but that was the moment his admiration of Bruce the man ceased to depend upon his high regard of the Bat.

“Earth reporting to Tim, are you still with me?” he suddenly heard Jason say in a playfully robotic voice, imitating the sound of an old school radio whilst waving his hand before Tim’s eyes, vying for his attention.

“Sorry,” Tim replied, shaking his head as though he was ridding himself of any distraction. “Anyways, let’s consider what we know.” He uncapped the pen in his hand, pretending as though he hadn’t zoned out as he approached the whiteboard. “We know that they know that we’re on them and that they prepared a... _gift_ and a sample of their gas to deliver this message. We know that Scarecrow has changed the properties of the fear gas, and that said gas can stay airborne, awaiting its victims. We also know that the gas I was subjected to seemed to delay a few seconds before working and that it can masquerade as simple dust.”

“We know that they’re targeting labour unionists,” Jason added, watching the board with keen eyes.

“We _know_ that thus far labour unionists have made the bulk of the victims, we _suspect_ them to be targeted,” Tim corrected, knowing he was being pedantic but choosing not to care. There is reason to separate what is known from speculation, and neglecting to do so carefully would only lead them astray.

“We know that Mr. Blackwood tried to poison Ms. Ahmadzai - a union representative - with fear toxin, and we suspect him to be the head of the operation. Meaning that Scarecrow might not be personally involved, acting merely as a supplier.” Tim continued, hating how little they actually knew and how much they were forced to rely on speculation. Sure, they were trained detectives with keen intuition, but a solid ground was always preferable. “If we are right, this would further support our theory that they are targeting labour rights activists since their activity presents a threat to Blackwood’s bottom line, and whose eradication would open the doors for further profit.”

“Capitalist pig,” Jason swore, and Tim didn’t feel inclined to disagree. “We’re missing something though. They’ve been at it for months, but it’s only now they’ve made mistakes obvious enough for us to catch on. They’re getting impatient, they must be building up to something,” Jason thought out loud as he started pacing around the apartment, only stopping once he got to the window, gazing at the blue sky of spring.

After a few impossibly long minutes, a heavy sigh suddenly escaped the man, coupled with a grumble calling himself an idiot.

Turning towards Tim once again, Jason lured him into making eye contact with sharp, determined hazel, which swiftly stole Tim’s breath away.

“They’re targeting the march,” he stated resolutely, striding back to the whiteboard, plucking the pen out of Tim’s loose grip.

With big letters, he simply wrote _MAYDAY DEMONSTRATION_ at the board’s centre. “Of course, why didn’t I see it earlier?” he continued, voicing the thoughts swirling around in Tim’s head as well.

“Workers and labour unionists will be marching through the entire city: open and vulnerable to attack and to make a big display,” Tim nodded in affirmation, internally screaming at himself for not realising it sooner, “Those not paralysed by fear will turn to aggression, thus giving the media violent acts to report and for people to condemn. Thereby not only threatening activists but also turning the public against them,” he continued, watching as Jason’s hand raced to get their thoughts down.

“D’ya reckon our little gift was but a decoy or nah?” Jason asked, turning his head to the side to meet Tim’s eye.

“I don’t know, but if I were Blackwood, I wouldn’t want people running around spraying gas in people’s faces,” Tim joked hollowly, “I would prefer discretion, leaving all eyes on the expected collateral,” he pondered out loud, scrambling to draw further conclusions from the very few clues they’d managed to gather without losing sense.

“Traps?” Jason suggested with a joyless laugh, underlining their cursed situation further by shrugging his shoulders.

“I guess?” Tim joined his vacant laughter, allowing it to accelerate until they were forced to gasp for breath, their laughter as miserable as their case. “I suppose we’ll spend the night running through the sewage system? Since it’s the only thing that runs through the entire city?”

“Ugh. You really know how to sweep a man off his feet, don’t ya’ Timmers?” Jason teased, and Tim instantly his face flush.

At least his complexion rarely made a show of his feelings, and most often he’d be able to get away with little more than a slight blush whilst he, in fact, felt as though his face had been lit aflame.

“You say that as though I already don’t have you wrapped around my finger,” he teased with false confidence, imitating Jason’s unflappable grin.

“You better watch that tongue of yours babybird, don’t think I’ve lost my teeth just because I haven’t bit you in a while,” Jason replied, and butterflies immediately swirled in Tim’s abdomen, leaving him giddy and on the brink of a giggle. He loved their battle of words, so much so he believed them guilty of his initial infatuation.

“I don’t know, you’ve become quite tame. You sure you’re not muzzled?” He grinned, but soon surrendered to laughter upon Jason’s reply of biting the air, gritting his teeth in a mockery of intimidation.

They locked eyes for a moment, each a confusing mess of mischief and misery; each the site of the neverending battle between the burden of Gotham’s fate and the need to be but a person.

For now, at least for a little while, they chose to be people, and a glint of recognition was all Tim got before Jason launched towards him, tackling him down to the ground with the skill to avoid any serious harm, granting Tim’s head safe landing.

“Muzzled, huh?” He grinned, pinning Tim to the ground triumphantly. Though such jubilation was swiftly condemned as Tim freed his legs, wrapping them around Jason’s midsection, tilting him to the side using his weight against him. Swapping positions, Tim seized the advantage, ensuring Jason’s hands were locked in his, pinned against the floor. Situating himself to prevent the other man’s legs from reaching him.

“Indeed. Though it might be redundant, you seem to have grown quite tame,” he baited with a smirk. Tim rarely allowed himself to surrender to such silliness; he was the clever Robin, the loyal soldier, the reliable leader, the responsible son. It simply wasn’t fit. And yet, Jason managed to lure that side of him out of hiding.  
He was too much of a coward to say it out loud, but he hoped his eyes succeed to communicate his gratitude.

They continued to tumble around on the floor for a while longer - each trumping the other with accelerating speed until they were but a rolling pile of limbs. Filling the otherwise empty apartment with giddy laughter and panted breaths, their play finally met its end once they found themselves halted by the sofa. Leaving Tim victorious, grinning down at Jason between heavy breaths.

“Would you look at that,” he started, his words interrupted by his need to breathe. He awaited embarrassment and shame to barge in and swiftly occupy the part of his mind currently engaged in play. Yet, no such intrusion occurred.

He must’ve grown more comfortable around Jason than he’d expected. 

“Seems you’ve become little more than a lapdog,” he finished, eyes burning with mischief.

Jason’s response was but a short chuckle and a wink, distracting Tim from his legs moving behind his back, which registered only when it was too late. The following second passed by as though they moved in slow motion. As Jason initiated the motion to launch off into the air, Tim found himself scrambling for a better grip, and his hands showed no hesitation when they abandoned Jason’s wrists in favour of allowing Tim the room to wrap his arms around Jason’s neck. Holding tight as to prevent falling down onto the floor once they became airborne, his legs similarly wrapping themselves around his waist.

Time returned to its usual passing only momentarily once Jason’s feet planted themselves on the ground, flashing Tim a grin as he reactively took hold of Tim’s behind, lending him some wholly appreciated support.

When their eyes met the seconds slowed down to minutes once more, and Tim could think of nothing but the faint scars cutting through Jason’s lip and nose only discoverable this close. He thought of the neatness of his eyebrows, and the evidently plucked remains between them. Of the minuscule birthmark resting mere millimeters below his lower lashline.  
He had no idea for how long he’d been staring, but when he finally surrendered to Jason’s captivating hazel he found that his eyes were already waiting for him.

The air around them was electric, charged by the intensifying tension lingering between them. It was as though this moment was everything and nothing at the same time, as though the very universe itself held its breath in anticipation whilst they were simultaneously the sole verifications of existence.

Tim daren’t breathe in fear of shattering the fragile moment between them. A threat which only grew the longer they stretched it out.

“I-” Jason started, immediately interrupted by the loud ringing of Tim’s cellphone.

Which he’d left on the table. Out of reach.

Fuck. Shit. Damnit. Fucking hell’s damned blasted pissing cunt. 

Jason immediately withdrew his hands from Tim’s bottom, who in turn unwrapped himself from Jason’s upper body with equal haste. Neither dared to sneak a glance of one another, a cause to which Tim was engaged in enough to feel more gratitude than shame when he finally hit the ground.

Wordlessly and awkwardly he crawled the short distance to the sofa table, reaching for the offending device with shaking hands.

“He-Hello?” He started, stammering with the pitch of a teenager, “Hello, Tim Drake-Wayne speaking,” he repeated, clearing his throat.

“... Am I interrupting something?” Stephanie’s voice replied, and Tim could clearly visualise her raising her eyebrow with an expectant look in her eye.

“Uhm, no?” Tim answered, ignoring the heavy drop of his heart as the door shut behind him. “You just woke me up, that’s all.”

“At 4 in the afternoon?” Stephanie answered, suspicion seeping through every syllable.

“Let’s not pretend like it hasn’t happened before,” Tim joked, desperately trying to change the direction of their conversation. He talked with Stephanie about everything, the two sharing a unique bond he believed reminiscent of that uniting Dick and Barbra; they’d hurt each other too much to ever fall back in love, and yet that somehow made them even closer. He simply didn’t know what just transpired himself. “So what’s up?”

There reigned a brief pause before Stephanie chose to deign him a response, preluding it with a heavy sigh which wordlessly told him she’d inquire further another day, and that he better have answers for her then.

“Cass just asked me to accompany her to a ballet show and agreed to dinner beforehand and I don’t know if it’s a date or not,” Stephanie whined following yet another moment of silence trying to coax Tim’s words off of his tongue. 

“Sounds like a date to me?” He replied, succeeding to isolate the relief out from influencing his voice, rearranging his brain as to leave whatever just happened (or didn’t happen) with Jason for later. Along with his probable panic.

“Yeah but I don’t know if by ’dinner’ she thought I meant takeout on the couch at home or ’dinner’ as in out at an adequately fancy but ultimately affordable restaurant,” she sighed, “And by ’ballet’ I’m not sure if she meant slouching at home in front of the tv or going to the opera to watch it live?”

“Oof?” Tim provided unhelpfully, moving to the sofa to settle down comfortably for at least an hour of trying to decipher the situation. Trying not to think about the void Jason’s touch had left upon his skin.

\---

The first day of May was suitably dark and gloomy, with heavy clouds above threatening to roar with thunder and unleash an ocean’s worth of rainfall.

Whilst disappointing for the demonstrators, Tim couldn’t help but feel guiltily grateful for the reinforced shadows, inescapably feeling a bit awkward whenever donning the mask during the day.

It did shield the purple bags beneath his eyes quite efficiently, however, as he’d spent the night prior rummaging through Gotham’s sewage system, seeking any and all signs of traps or other means of subterfuge without any success. Leaving him prickly and on edge, feeling much like a hedgehog or a porcupine. He never did contact nor encounter Jason, though judging by the extra-large paper-mug of coffee he threw away upon arrival, accompanied by an uncharacteristically grumpy grunt of a greeting even for him, Tim could only presume his night had resembled his own.

Jason didn’t even like coffee.

~~The back of his mind insisted that his companion’s irritation was due to their not-a-moment the day prior, a thought which he locked up and stacked in the increasingly unstable warehouse at the back of his mind.~~

At least he’d been capable of making eye contact; though he was certain that was mostly due to their endowment of helmet and cowl, without which it would likely have differed starkly.

For now, they threaded the rooftops in silence, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the awkward air yet lingering around them. At least silence aided them in their quest for stealth, neither desiring any attention if they could help it.  
Though Tim couldn’t help but note that their position on the roof gave plenty of room for small talk, as they were much more likely to be seen than heard. 

The march had only just started, their numbers surprisingly large considering the recent disappearances and ever-decreasing activity, not to mention the looming threat of rain and thunder, providing only further reason for people to stay at home.

Their voices merged with the fortitude to convey their passionate chants and occasional songs to the vigilantes’ position on top of the roof, their voices demanding justice and dignity ringing clearly in Tim’s ears. Reinforced by the ever-so-slight humming to his side.

“I didn’t know singing lessons was an imperative part of union activism,” Tim joked awkwardly, finally bringing some relief to the increasingly uncomfortable silence between them. Keeping his eyes on the ground below, refusing to sneak a glance at his companion as he watched the people below march.

“You’re joking but like, singing is a thing,” Jason replied, his voice decisively casual. Though Tim couldn’t help but notice the slightest tremble of self-consciousness clinging to his words, almost wholly certain he was not merely projecting.  
“One of the most famous ones, _Bella Ciao_ began as an old Italian protest song against unfair working conditions in the 1800s, only to be modified and later used by La Resistenza during the second world war,” he continued, “Today, there are versions of the song in loads of languages, and if I remember right the Kurdish version is frequently sung in Rojava?” Tim realised that Jason was babbling, and though he would be a liar if he claimed not to enjoy listening to Jason speak endlessly about that which he cared about. A deplorable part of him couldn’t help but find solace in their shared nervosity. He knew it was foolish but whenever he was faced with any sort of confirmation that other people cared for him and enjoyed his company, he couldn’t help but realise how worried he was about the opposite being true.  
“My favourite is _El pueblo unido jamás será vencido_ , though I’m biased,” Jason added with a shrug of his shoulders following a brief pause of what Tim guessed to be hesitation, spurred on by Tim’s nod of encouragement.  
Or maybe not. Maybe he was giving himself too much credit. He probably was. Jason was incredibly confident, he wouldn’t capitulate to nervosity by someone like _Tim_.  
Jason motioned for the two of them to advance forwards, providing Tim some appreciated means of distraction. Leaping across a few more rooftops once more to catch up with the march’s front, retreating to the shadows to keep watch.  
They fell back into a comfortable silence, tongues tied by keen eyes focused on the people below, searching for any sign or indication of either a trap triggering, any show of fear, or any other reason to raise suspicion. The discomfort of before seemingly cleared by the casual exchange of words.

It was too easy. How could things be easy and wonderful at the same time?

A few rooftops later, as the march began to approach the city centre, the meagre orchestra occupying the march’s midst started playing. With the sound of trumpets and drums converging to create a melody which instantly made one straighten one’s back and move one’s hand over one’s heart. Their solo lasted only for a few notes before the rest of the orchestra joined in, shortly followed by the crowd’s singing, the unity of which rang clearer than any attempt prior. He could swear their numbers had not only increased but that they were more confident as well. Upon closer inspection, he discovered the leaflets now occupying many a demonstrator’s hands, held before their eyes - only absent in favour of a phone. Presumably working as lyrical assistance.

Jason’s humming likewise returned. Though he’d rather transcended beyond mere hums and now engaged in actual song, albeit silently, as Tim could clearly discern the words falling off his lips.

“ _Freedom is merely privilege extended; Unless enjoyed by one and all_ ” Jason whispered melodiously before suddenly grabbing hold of Tim’s hand. Interlocking their fingers as he raised their joint fist to their shoulders. Seemingly acting out of muscle memory, as he didn’t seem to think anything of it. 

Or perhaps Tim was overthinking it. After all, he was embarrassing enough to catch his breath and simply stare at their connected hands, without a clue on how to react. He only knew that his heart was beating loudly in his ears and that he couldn’t quite think of anything but the imagined warmth of Jason’s gloved hand.

When Tim finally managed to de-twist his tongue a few seconds later, Jason let his hand go, seemingly aware of the younger vigilante’s confusion. When Jason repeated the action as he and the crowd approached the chorus once more, Tim noticed that the demonstrators below were replicating the action, each taking hold of the hand of the person next to them, similarly raising their joined hands to the sky. None seemingly in need of any lyrical assistance for what Tim assumed to be the chorus.

Their hands soon dropped as they approached the second verse, though Tim was certain Jason’s grasp of his hand withheld that one extra second before the second verse began, past the point when the others once more separated in favour of their papers.

He was probably imagining it.

~~But what if he wasn’t.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write this in precaution of anyone about to write that I'm being 'too political' or whatever: What... did you expect... from the very premise of a case revolving around some seemingly intentional dismantling of labour unions? It's inherently political, and I am, in fact, doing my very best to keep the politics at the far low. I have no desire to turn an e-rated fanfic into a political manifesto (the mere thought has me laughing lmao???). 
> 
> For everyone else: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Up next we'll finally have some action, some proper progress on the case, and some Batfamily hijinks. It'll get more eventful from here on now and I look forwards to sharing it with y'all :)
> 
> (Extra rambling sorry: The song Jason states as his favourite, _El pueblo unido jamás será vencido_ (The people together will never be defeated), which became an anthem of the resistance against the Pinochet regime following the Chilean coup d'état of 1973. A headcanon of mine I have foolishly surrendered to is that one or both of Jason’s parents were Chilean immigrants fleeing the country following the coup, with at least one of them escaping prison and torture following the new regime's persecution of leftists.  
> I'm generally in favour of various headcanons that Jason’s Latino, and my specification of Chile is due to the fact that I find that it brings depth to his suspicion of the status quo, his tendencies to be rash and reckless, etc. since it provides a personal history of not only resistance, but also of persecution. Of course, similar reasoning can be provided for... an overwhelming number of southern American countries ~~(Thanks, America)~~. Another reason why I tend towards Chilean Jason is that I know and admire a great many people whose parents fled the Pinochet regime due to their previous leftist activism, thereby making it not only a matter close to my heart, but also one about which I am more knowledgeable.  
> Again, sorry for rambling I just have a lot of thoughts and no one to share ‘em with rest in pieces.)


	5. No more tradition's chains shall bind us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We were right. They did go for the march.” he was interrupted but a shrilling scream, to which Jason responded with calming mumbling and a moment of relative silence which Tim presumed occupied by him administering the antidote to what was clearly a victim of the toxin. “Get here, quick,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is as good a moment as any to say that i am another rascal not agreeing with canon, but my gotham is more like a collection of greatest hits.  
> What I want to say is that Cassandra is Batgirl and Stephanie is Spoiler but Steph has been Batgirl in the past, but returned to Spoiler when Cassandra abandoned the Black Bat mantle, becoming Batgirl once more. 
> 
> I apologise for taking so long to update. I was working on my Bachelor's thesis (I still didn't manage to finish it so that sucks).

An inaudible curse slipped through his lips as he leapt down the alleyway, chasing the young men he’d discovered threatening another, far too busy corning the quivering adolescent to pay any mind to the world around them; leaving them exposed and defenceless.  


They were obviously intoxicated, and Tim didn’t need many meters before he’d grabbed hold of the oversized hoodie of the slowest one among them. The man flailed his arms but failed to land a single hit, and Tim needn’t do more but strike one or two pressure points before he fell haplessly to the ground. Within the following three minutes, the four men were all down but hardly bruised; tied up and ready to be dealt with by authorities.  


He grit his teeth in frustration as his brain kindly reminded him that they’d all likely get off scot-free - their expensive clothing informing him they or their parents would have no issue paying off any bail presented to them.

Maybe he should ask Jason for some recommended reading regarding the state of their judicial system someday. He always had things to say about it, maybe that would help him come to terms with his own thoughts which were growing increasingly difficult to escape.

“Red Robin, you there?” a taut voice suddenly called in his ears, taunted by a convalescence of wrath and fear.

“Red Robin reporting. What’s your status?” Tim answered hastily, swiftly leaving the empty alley behind him. Jogging instead to Redbird, not willing to waste a single moment. His voice remained steady, maintaining the undeterred front of his persona despite the anxiety welling up inside him. The bats all qualified as unmovable objects, anything that managed to shake Jason proved more than enough cause to worry. 

“We were right. They did go for the march.” he was interrupted but a shrilling scream, to which Jason responded with calming mumbling and a moment of relative silence which Tim presumed occupied by him administering the antidote to what was clearly a victim of the toxin. “Get here, quick,” he called curtly. Leaving no room for Tim to reply before forwarding his coordinates and tuning out, presumably returning his attention to the situation before him.

Reaching his bike, Tim quickly threw himself on the seat and left Gotham Heights without hesitation. Willing his vehicle to take him away as fast as possible, though he was sure not even the speed of light would satisfy him at this point. He spent the ride on autopilot, his mind too busy reflecting upon his actions of the past week in an attempt to identify where and when and how he failed to stop whatever got Jason so shaken. 

Despite violating every law of the road in order to reach his destination as quickly as possible, the ride yet seemed eternal. 

Alas, before his eyes could distinguish the familiar despondency of the Bowery, his arrival was announced by the echoing screams reaching his ears, only growing louder the further he progressed. The shrieks of fear were only rivalled by the sirens of police cars jumping off the edges. Though the similar yet distinct sirens of any ambulance were deafening in their absence.

When his eyes finally accompanied his ears’ awareness and started recognising the familiar buildings of the Bowery his patience had already grown dangerously thin. As the Red Hood finally entered his view, the itching sensation through his limbs urged him to hastily abandon his bike, not willing to waste any second longer. Jason turned to look at him with what Tim imagined to be a questioning look as he threw himself off of his bike, apparently causing enough of a ruckus to attract draw his attention.

Though he could be projecting. It was hard to tell with the helmet. 

A few seconds passed before Tim discovered the body of an unconscious policeman a mere few metres from Jason, but he chose to ignore it once he’d secured the man was still breathing and didn’t sport any visible signs of serious injury.

“There are people turned mad by fear all over the neighbourhood,” Jason reported once within earshot. He was speaking with a perfectly even tone, yet he couldn’t wholly conceal the rage boiling within. Or perhaps he never intended to render his fury unknown. “And I’d swear many of ‘em were protestors from earlier,”.

Tim nodded, acknowledging his words but remaining silent. Refusing to leave his head before he’d figured out what was going on, refusing to stay ignorant any longer.

He considered Mr. Blackwood, the warehouse and the false trail he’d foolishly pursued, how someone clever enough must have planted it, presuming his underestimation of the businessman. There was undoubtedly some puppetmaster behind the scenes - someone other than Blackwood and Scarecrow. Someone with access to the upper echelons of ordinary society as well as the innermost circle of its villains.

He filed that line of thought for later. It was significant, but not relevant at this very moment.

Instead, he returned to their busted excavation to the warehouse, and upon examining his most recent interaction with the toxin, and soon it hit him.

“The protestors were been sprayed during the march, but the poison only took hold of them now,” Tim stated, inwardly scolding himself for not noticing it earlier. 

It was simple and so painstakingly clear. They’d picked up on the wrong clue; the toxin’s ability to stay effective after-hours lingering in the air, but its ability not to take hold of its victim immediately; the gas had infiltrated the demonstrators’ systems only to be activated once they contacted _something_ within them.  
He’d believed the shortness of the delay intentional; to last just long enough to lure their cautious victims into lowering their defences before offsetting its avalanche of terror. It was simple and so painstakingly clear. They’d accepted such an obvious decoy.

Bruce would - _should_ \- be so disappointed when he learnt of their failure.

“The fear toxin didn’t activate until now,” Tim repeated, now saying it as though it were a curse.

“Yeah,” Jason confirmed in a breathy voice, “As though the situation wasn’t already sufficiently fucked,” he swore before carefully releasing the young woman from his arms, leaving her leaning against one of the brick walls in an uncharacteristically tender fashion. Her face, whilst no longer frozen in unimaginable terror, yet retained an unmistakably haunted look, sending unexpected shivers down Tim’s spine.

Tim’s eyes return to the whites of Jason’s helmet only to find them waiting for him, and in the back of his mind, Tim couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been staring.

Jason jumped back unto his feet, and they shared a moment of silence, just looking at each other. Needing little more than each other’s disguised gaze to discuss their strategy moving forwards.

“We should call for help,” Tim finally voiced out loud, receiving a frustrated growl in response. “Leave the ego at home, Hood. Your pride can stand a bruising,” he argued. Allowing a moment of silence before raising his hand to his comm, giving Jason a moment to rebuke his argument.

When no such rebuttal came, he turned around to call Oracle.

“We need back-up,” he stated once he’d transferred the signal calling for her attention. Jason released a sound of frustration whilst kicking an innocent stone lying before him on the street, a reluctant sign of acquiescence. 

“What’s the situation?” Oracle replied without skipping a beat. 

Not for the first time, Tim felt an immense sensation of gratitude wash over him that Barbs made sure to make time for the Bats as well as her Birds of Prey.

“We’re in the Bowery district. We failed to discover and prevent the targeting of the Mayday march by someone using fear gas. We were previously uncertain if Scarecrow’s personally involved, however, this ordeal does seem very in character. Though his presence has not been confirmed.” Tim voiced into the comm, instantly scolding himself inwardly for giving their location as though she didn’t have their coordinates before her eyes. 

“We need an extra pair of hands and more antidotes’.” Jason chimed in, “If ya’ wouldn’t mind, could ya’ also tell B that the antidote needs more work? It provides only slight relief, but the victims remain affected,” he added helpfully, and Tim couldn’t help but feel ashamed for their confusing report. He was usually much clearer than this.

“You’re lucky, it doesn’t look like much else is happening in Gotham tonight,” Oracle soon stated, preceded and succeeded by the familiar sound of her rapid typing on her keyboard, “Spoiler and Batgirl are both free and nearby. Batman and Robin are out of the country. Should I call in Nightwind from Blüdhaven?” she continued, her voice altered by the slightest indication of haste. 

She must be busy with her other birds, Tim noted, sending Jason a glance meant to communicate that they better communicate whatever they may need now and not later.

“No need, the four of us should be able to manage the situation without further disturbance.”

“Alright,” more typing, “My Birds of Prey are about to engage in a situation requiring my full attention,” she reported, confirming Tim’s suspicions. 

“Don’t worry, O, we’ll be fine without a babysitter for the one night,” Jason joked, his voice remnant of its previous burden, “We wouldn’t dream of making you peel your eyes of Black Canary’s legs in those fishnets.” 

Jason may be wearing a helmet, but Tim could _swear_ by the tone of his voice he was wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’m not so sure…” Barbara replied through gritted teeth, whatever she prepared to say next interrupted by her spluttering stammer erupting upon Jason’s teasing.

“Thank you, O,” Tim chimed in, resisting the chuckle bubbling tickling throat “And good luck with your mission,” 

“Thank you, Red Robin,” Oracle replied, back to the familiar monotony. “And likewise,” she added before announcing her exit.

Tim sent Jason a jaunty glare, only for Jason to give him nought but casual whistling in response. Once more Tim needn’t see his face to see the mischievous glint in his eyes.  
(He couldn’t help but wonder when they’d gotten so close. As much as he couldn’t help but fear that they would grow apart again once their mission was over.)

Before any other words could be shared, a sudden scream shattered their momentary peace. It was loud and shrill - and most of all, it sounded like it was closeby. If Tim’s ears served him right, the source of the cry shouldn’t be further away than some alleyway along the next street.

“How many antidotes d’ya got?” Jason asked him as Tim reached for the right pouch to check his supply. He’d stacked up some extra in preparation for this mission, but to his dismay, he doubted it would be enough for even a quarter of the people who’d need it.

“The others better bring extra,” he replied, shoving half of his stock in Jason’s hand,

Right as they set off, the customary warnings of the police could be heard from the same direction as the scream.

“ _Fuck_ ” Jason complained, quickening his step even further, urging Tim to replicate his actions.

Around the corner they were met by the sight of two police cars parked in parallel, effectively blocking the road for any other driver and any potential escapée from the alley the four officers were advancing. All of them armed and holding their guns at the ready, progressing forwards in a cone-shaped formation, effectively cornering their target.

“Hands up!” one of them barked right as the two vigilantes arrived within earshot, prompting violent sobs from the young man crouching to the ground a few metres before the officers, only visible once they’d gotten closer. The man was dressed in an oversized hoodie and pyjama pants too short to cover his ankles. His socks were mismatched and full of holes, and Tim could swear that one of the heels had been patched up. The tears escaping his eyes and intense dread of his paralysed facial expression threatened to make Tim’s heart ache.

He directed his eyes towards the officers. They were all clad in the standard uniform, not standing out from one another outside of the one having her hair in a ponytail in contrast to the short haircuts of her colleagues.

“Oy!” Red Hood shouted from beside him, voice cleared from any and all indication of its previous playfulness. The infamous wrath of the Red Hood was beginning to seep out of the cracks, forcing its way back to the surface. “Leave the kid alone.”

They needn’t words, not even a glance, to synchronise and act in relation to one another seamlessly. It wasn’t always like this; far from it. However, in moments like these, when every second truly did matter, they did manage to get it together. And that was worth everything. 

Tim headed straight for the kid, his steps growing increasingly careful the closer he got, not wishing to cause the teen further despair. Ensuring to alert his approach through calm words, soft shushing, and other soft sounds of what he hoped to be comfort, he finally sat down next to the teen. Slowly, and never without initially informing the teen of his next move, Tim carefully prepared and administered the antidote. Witnessing the teen’s face go from one of intense dread to more manageable trepidation, further confirming Jason’s previous observation of the inefficacy of the antidote.

Of course, a working antidote would make things far too easy, now wouldn’t it?

Turning around, Tim found the police running away with the tail between their legs, one of them with a conspicuous black eye he was sure hadn’t been there prior to their arrival. Jason was seemingly occupied tinkering with their cars, the motive of his work soon clear once the yelling sirens finally had their lights tuned out.

They spent the following minutes attending to the victims cowering in alleys and corners throughout the tweet, most of them frozen by fear, a state which presumably followed an initial rush to flee. A few were tragically defending themselves against empty air, but thankfully managed to calm down once they’d received some relief. 

Tim wished they could take them somewhere, feeling awful leaving all these people out in the open, vulnerable and exposed. At the same time, taking them somewhere else might only make the situation even more traumatic by leaving them alone in a foreign place without knowing their way home.

He shook his head, willing the melancholy threatening to sneak up on him away, refusing to indulge in such feelings of helplessness until he was alone and had done everything he could to give these people his support. 

“I swear to god, you decide to ascend a few altitudes to survey the area for a few short seconds, and ya’ get yer’ head all messed up with” A familiar voice complained behind them, and when Tim turned around he was met with a flood of blacks and purple announcing the arrival of Batgirl and Spoiler.

He opened his mouth to greet them welcome only to lose his words when the implications of her words grew clear, immediately erasing any thought of small talk.

“What rooftop?” Tim enquired, searching for Stephanie’s eyes in the dark void where her face should be beneath her hood.

“All of ‘em?” she replied lightheartedly, refusing to neglect her devil-may care-attitude, “The change was gradual, but we first noticed something was amiss when we passed by that storage building a few blocks away.” She paused, ”Fear gas, believe it or not. Though not ’specially potent or nothin’,” she continued in a more informative manner. “We figure it’s some malfunction since that one’s so different.”

“They must be targeting the ventilation system…” Tim thought out loud following a brief pause, his brows furrowed in a merge of concentration and frustration. 

“Are you alright?” He asked before questioning her further, his words not bereft of the disquieting storm blowing up inside him. Regardless of her carefree tone.

“Just peachy,” Stephanie replied, and Tim could swear that she winked, “Don’t waste yer’ energy worryin’ ‘bout little ol’ me now. We’ve all got better things t’do,” she smiled and winked before immediately changing the subject, ”Also, is it just me or does the solar panels look real awkward standing on roofs ’bout to fall in?”

“We have the antidotes,” Cassandra interrupted, preventing them to get caught up in Stephanie’s tangent. 

(... Tim could also swear that she was standing closer to Stephanie than usual.)

He tried to send her an inquisitive _look_ in pursuit of more details, however, the whites of his mask prevented him from properly communicating his intentions. Or perhaps Steph was simply choosing not to indulge him.

He made a mental note to check up with her later. 

“So, how d’ya wish to handle this?” Steph posed, refusing the solemnity which took hold of Tim, but without dismissing the gravitas required by the situation at hand.

“We really ought to address the issue on the rooftops - we can’t allow the gas to grow sufficiently potent to terrorise,” Tim started, “But there are also a ton of people already affected, and every moment we leave them victims unattended the risk of them fully succumbing to fear only grows,” he finished with a sigh, hardly bothering to conceal the dread behind it. “We should split up.”

They shared one final look among them, nodding in confirmation before each setting off in four separate directions. Keeping their lines open in order to keep themselves and each other updated about the situation and whether the victims had been gathering or harboured in one particular location. 

Tim delved deeper into the neighbourhood in the direction of the ever-increasing industrial district, whose borders crept closer and closer to the habitual quarters each year, Keeping eyes and ears sharp and investigative of any indication of human presence. From his position on the rooftops, he also stayed alert for any indication of the presence of fear gas but to little avail. Despite the risk, the height gave him the scope of view too valuable to discard, allowing him to sneak a glance inside the apartments of the buildings on the opposite side. Reminding him that not all victims would’ve ventured outside, making their job of finding them that much more difficult. 

His intentions didn’t make him feel less creepy invading other people’s privacy in such a manner, but he didn’t have time to think of anything better.

As he scaled the walls to progress onto the next building, he kept thinking that there must be a more efficient way to distribute the antidote to those in need of it. There must be something he was missing, some way to smoothly deliver the cure to everyone needing it. Maybe it was greedy of him to wish for a situation in which everybody gets to live. Even so, he would stop at nothing short of that goal.

“Red Hood reporting. We called it; it’s much worse than we thought,” Jason started, interrupted by a grunt and the telltale sound of combat, “They’re in the industrial district, using the smokestacks to distribute the gas all over the East End; if not the entire town.”

“They also managed to infiltrate a number of residential buildings. I don’t know the extent yet.” Spoiler added, almost reluctant to further contribute to the pile of bad news. 

“Where are you, Batgirl?” Tim questioned, trying to remember who ran in what direction.

“Residential quarter. I’ll aid Spoiler.” She replied, as short and concise as ever. A trait greatly appreciated in their line of business when time was always too short.

“Then I’ll head towards the industrial district,” Tim reported, launching himself forwards onto another rooftop, running as fast as he could muster in Jason’s direction. “Spoiler, Batgirl, please report to me what you learn about their infiltration of the ventilation system; perhaps we can use their means against them by replacing the fear gas with the antidote.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally intended to post this chapter and chapter 6 at the same time, since this one is quite weak on its own. However, due to time constraints, I haven't managed to finish chapter 6 yet and I really wanted to post an update to signal that I Haven't Abandoned This I Swear. So, yeah. I know this was kinda slow but the next one should be more action-packed, and hopefully, I'll finally get around to their undercover fake-dating mission in chapter 7...


	6. Arise, ye slaves, no more in thrall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive - who would've thought?  
> First, I must confess something... I had to go back to previous chapters to make minor edits in order to set up some resolutions in this chapter. It's the cardinal sin of fanfiction writing, and I can do nothing but ask for your forgiveness. I am but a fool accustomed to the ability to go back and edit things however I want, unwonted to the strange mechanisms of intermittent publishing.
> 
> Anyways, I also pondered a lot about how I wanted to characterise Scarecrow, and landed on a poor imitation of his interpretation in the Harley Quinn cartoon.  
> I've been struggling a lot with keeping this somehow coherent in regards to tone, and I am happy to announce such discord continues in this chapter.

“Of course there’s only the two frontal doors,” Jason exclaimed in frustration. “Not even some emergency exists. That’s a massive fire hazard,” he added, though the intended wit was mellowed by gritted teeth.

“You hate to see it,” Tim mumbled in response, his deadpan voice urging a snicker to escape his companion. He didn’t even bother to tear his eyes off the screen before him, sustaining his pursuit for any construction plan of the building before them. An objective he’d spent the past 10 minutes chasing to his increasing frustration. Jason, the bastard, found far too much enjoyment in his growing irritation, and had even dared to try preaching that “some improvisation ain’t ever hurt nobody.” 

He’d arrived at the factory 15 minutes earlier, where he’d found Jason surrounded by the unconscious bodies of Scarecrow’s hirelings. Whilst Tim had moved to tie them up and move them aside to avoid any further interference. Jason had been communicating with Steph and Cass, informing them further of how he figured Scarecrow distributed the gas. Requesting one of them to tend to nearby smokestacks whilst the two of them set to cut off the source.

Once they finished their second walk around the building, Tim finally abandoned his fruitless attempts to learn of the interior structure of the factory. Though not without sending Jason a threatening glare upon surrendering his tablet before scurrying deeper into the shadows, settling to determine their plan of infiltration. Unfortunately, their scouting for any backdoor or any other entrance not surrounded by guards turned out unsuccessful. Even though Tim doubted they’d have too much problem getting through the (admittedly unimpressive) guarding force, he did prefer not walking straight into the traps set up for them by their opponents. Its blatancy was almost insulting, and he really didn’t want to stoop so low as to be forced to accept its premise. 

Of course, there was always the factory’s ventilation system. 

Ironic, in some ways, that their means of breaching the factory’s security would be the very same tool they’ve turned against the surrounding neighbourhood.

“Look, nobody likes crawling through vents…” Jason started, only to be interrupted by Tim’s freezing cold glare.

“When was the last time _you_ had to crawl through a vent?” 

“I’ve crawled through vents’.”

“In this life?” Tim questioned lightheartedly but froze the moment the words left his mouth.  
Could he make death-jokes? Jason made them all the time, and he knew he could laugh with him, but could he be the one joking? 

Shit,  
Did he fuck up?

“... I may not remember a specific instance but-” Jason replied cheekily after a pause, which Tim now understood as him mockingly thinking about it.

He quickly recovered from his brief panic and chose to send a playful glare in his companion’s direction, adding a heavy sigh for effect.

“I am so tired of crawling through vents,” Tim complained half-heartedly, balancing the genuine sentiment with a playful tone. 

“Doesn’t matter though, seems like we have little choice but to go crawlin’,” Jason added, and adapted a lowered stance, ready to leave the security of the shadows. 

Not willing to prolong their delay any further, Tim simply sighed reluctantly before donning his mask and mirroring Jason’s stance.

They advanced in silence, moving like a well-oiled machine. However, Tim had expected mountains of dust, spider waves, and dead insects, he encountered nothing such on his way. The ventilators were surprisingly clean, and Tim couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be able to see his reflection if there only was light. Though such thoughts swiftly turned to dust upon reaching the exit. He signalled to Jason that they’d reached the end before bending down further to investigate the room before them, ensuring that it wasn’t already occupied.

Changing his position, Tim gathered his legs beneath his as he reached for the bolt cutters in his utility belt. With swift but careful movements, he cut a big enough opening for him to crawl out. 

“Neat trick, Replacement. Ye wouldn’t have anything adult-sized?” Jason teased, and for a second Tim considered threatening to leave him to fend for his own.

“Please and thank you, Red. Didn’t Alfred ever teach you any manners?” he taunted playfully, returning his bolt cutters and exchanging them for a screwdriver. 

“Ah, you forget, I am the family rebel. Someone must speak truth to power.”

Tim couldn’t help but laugh at Jason’s mockingly earnest tone. He tried to roll his eyes in response, but the remnant of a laugh refused to dampen the smile on his lips.

Soon, he could detach the vent from its place on the wall, neatly organising the four screws in an orderly pile to the side. Though it was only minutes later when Jason finally managed to get out, albeit short of any grace.

Upon standing up and brushing off the surprisingly small amount of dust that yet clung to their clothes, the two vigilantes took another look around the room, scrutinising it for any and all clues or indications of another’s presence. Yet, to their continued disbelief, the room wasn’t merely empty of people, but eerily vacant in every other aspect as well. Where one would have expected towering shelves filled with boxes, distorted machinery, or at the very least some crates or other means of storage, the vast space around them remained desolate.

“This sure is suspicious,” Jason grumbled, reaching for the twin guns at his hip. Tim glared at the handgun as though it had committed him a personal offence. “Don’t get yer panties in a twist babybird - I’ve got rubber bullets,” Jason complained as he loaded his firearm, not even bothering to meet Tim’s eye. 

“They’re still capable of massive harm and life-sustaining injuries. Not to mention death,” Tim grumbled in response, though yet signalling to his companion that he wasn’t about to pick a fight. 

That didn’t mean he liked it, of course.

“The same can be said of all combat,” Jason replied casually, (too casually in Tim’s opinion). “I for one can report that that precious bo-staff of yours fucking hurts.” He stated as he finished loading his second weapon, giving the two a twirl around each of his fingers before putting them back in place.

“Why didn’t you load them earlier, anyway?” Tim enquired, not wanting to trigger a debate around firearms but also not feeling like letting Jason off the hook just yet.

“I did,” Jason rolled his shoulders, as though making a show of how unbothered he was, “Just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t run out of bullets when we drop in on Scarecrow.” He continued, marching forwards towards the door taking them out of the storage room. “Now, if you’re done with this little interrogation of yours, shall we get movin’?” 

Tim bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from spurring an argument by saying something disdainful in response. Settling with a disparaging look instead, the two advanced towards the door with swift but silent steps, keeping themselves on their toes in anticipation of a trap.

When they opened the door, they were immediately greeted by a hallway lit with fluorescent light and an unchanged sense of displacement, seemingly continuing until the end of the world in either direction, lacking any figure of a human or else to disrupt the neverending tunnel of concrete. 

Again, the seeming ordinariness of the scene before then urged a shiver down his spine. Though he couldn’t identify what made this hallway different from the countless corridors he walked through during his everyday life, Tim was certain something was afoot.

Jason looked down at him, and the tilt of his head seemed to communicate a similar wariness, or at least confusion, as his own.

Regardless, they didn’t have any time to waste. Every second they spent doing nothing meant yet another second of an innocent person’s suffering. 

Straightening his back, Tim left the seeming safety of the room behind him, stepping out into the harshly lit corridor. He looked in each direction once more before settling on commencing forwards going south. Jason quickly accompanied him, and they needn’t exchange a word to conclude that splitting up was out of the question.

As they progressed onwards, Tim could feel himself grow agonisingly tense, every moment expecting the trap to unleash and capture the two of them. Yet, no such moment arrived, and when they finally reached another door Tim’s shoulders had levelled themselves with his earlobes, whilst his legs had long since abandoned his muscles, balancing his weight instead upon his joints.

When they stopped, Jason put his hands on each of his shoulders, urging him to relax - if only a little. A task to which he left Tim whilst he started to pick the lock of the door before them.

On the other side of the door, they immediately found an industrial platform in black steel. Gazing down at a massive hall stocked with pipes and tubes in glimmering silver and matte black, with heavy machinery whose hard work was made apparent by their harrowing screams of exhaustion, and in the centre of it all stood Scarecrow.

Scarecrow was standing before a nervous-looking young man, hastily reading a letter with a growing grimace of distaste taking over his face.  
Diverting his eyes from the man, Tim found a shadowy corner occupied by rows after rows of people with their eyes glued onto separate computers, all of whom were seemingly engrossed in the lines of code before them.

The two vigilantes swiftly crouched down onto the platform, quietly closing the door behind them as to emit notice through the stark lightning sipping through to the dimly lit hall. Though Tim’s thoughts were less occupied with his movements, and more interested in the purpose of the presumed hackers and programmers fading away in their seats. 

Jason sent him a questioning tilt of his head, but Tim quickly brushed him off, retreating into his mind to find the pieces he’d missed.

By now, Tim figured the demonstration had been but a decoy, giving Scarecrow the time and space to set up the final pieces of his plan. To infiltrate the Bowery with his fear gas, he must’ve

The fear gas had infiltrated the neighbourhood, and was noticeable on top of the rooftops, but not quite potent enough to incapacitate any of them. Civilians were all over the streets driven to near madness by terror, meaning that there must be a widespread distribution of the gas in sufficient quantities to cause such disruption. Tim had previously figured that they must be utilising the ventilation system somehow and upon discovering the recently installed supply system he concluded that the fear gas was probably emitted outside. Then guided inside the people’s homes through the ventilation. Thus, when Jason suggested the smokestacks, he didn't think to question it since his suggestion did tick all the boxes. Yet, such an operation wouldn’t require such a line-up of programmers, and even more, due to the low number of smokestacks found through the neighbourhood, it was unlikely to work as efficiently as they’d previously witnessed.

He was missing something. Something of dire importance.  
And those computers could tell him what.

“I need to get a hold of one of those computers,” Tim whispered hastily to his companion, gesturing towards the area in question with his arms. 

“And how d’ya figure to do that without notice?” Jason replied, gesturing dismissively towards the haphazardly put together cubicles. Cubicles which utterly failed to live up to their purpose, only reaching to the level of the workers’ eyes, failing to bring any sense of separation.

“I need you to distract Scarecrow,” Tim answered, unwillingly allowing a hiss to seep through in some of his words.

“And wha’ about the hoard of nerds? I figure they got eyes,”

“I can deal with them myself,” Tim replied, this time keeping his indignation at bay. 

Jason looked like he was about to further argue the matter, but before he had the chance to utter any sound he was interrupted by a tormented shriek that erupted from the previously nervous-looking young man. A young man who was now occupying the floor beneath Scarecrow crawled up in a fetal position. Intermittently screaming and descending into nonsensical mumbling. 

Scarecrow, on the other hand, was now wearing an expression of exasperation bordering on rage. Not even bothering to look at his most recent victim, he simply kicked the man to the side until he tumbled over the edge of the platform. Several seconds passed before the final thud signalling his landing came, and more than ever Tim found himself utterly befuddled by the structure of the building.

“So he dare treatin’ me like one of his henchmen, yeah?” Scarecrow muttered once the sound of screaming ceased in favour of newfound silence only interrupted by the noise of machinery. “I am Dr. Jonathan Crane, Scarecrow, the Master of Fear, and this swine _dare_ try ordering me around?” He continued, and his usually exaggerated British accent somehow only grew more obnoxious. His vexation only grew with each word, and Tim swore he could see the fumes escaping from beneath the bag he wore over his head.

“Silly, _silly_ little man, thinking he can control me,” Scarecrow continued, approaching a fully stocked desk standing in the centre of his platform. Shoving off all its contents in a fit of rage, surrounding himself with scattered notes, books, and broken glass

“Well, I see it’s time for me to move on,” Scarecrow stated after a brief pause, “I’ve always preferred going solo, anyways,” he said as a sinister grin grew onto his face.

Tim and Jason immediately exchanged a worrying glance. They needed to act, and do so fast. 

Tim immediately figured he’d need to acquiesce and think of another plan. But before he got the chance to open his mouth and admit his capitulation, Jason offered him his hand in a gesture of agreement. Dumbfounded, Tim accepted his hand, meeting his eyes and hoping his nonverbal gratitude for Jason’s trust got through.

They parted with a nod, and Jason soon moved down the platform, putting distance between the two of them before making his presence known to Scarecrow. Simultaneously, Tim advanced in the opposite direction, moving closer to his destination without ever receding from the shadows.

“Trouble in paradise?” Red Hood’s taunting voice echoed inside the hall, bouncing deceitfully against its edges, yet shielding his precise location in the dark. “Communication’s the key to a workin’ relationship y’know,” he quipped as he jumped down the railings to another platform, maintaining the high ground at a safe distance yet still within Scarecrow’s scope of vision, sure to draw his attention. 

Tim jumped at the opportunity to progress, daring to move across the sliver of light interrupting his path once Scarecrow’s eyes were averted.

“I did wonder when you’d make an appearance,” Scarecrow spoke, turning around to face the red helmet divulging from the shadows behind him. “Don’t you know it’s quite rude to keep your host waiting?” He continued, clicking his tongue in a mockery of disciplinary action. “Showing up by your lonesome, too? Why, I greatly enjoyed my collaboration with your companion and was looking forward to continuing our… relationship,” A depraved smile crept onto his lips as he spoke, and the sound of the crunching hay suffering his every footstep only managed to enhance the effect of his words. “He made a lovely test subject, didn’t he?”

Ignoring the spectre of alarm howling down his spine, urging goosebumps to erupt down his limbs, Tim refused to let himself stop. The shadows as his shield, he abandoned the guard rail and commenced his descent down the closest newel, using it as an improvised fireman’s pole. Discreetly, he slid down to the floor below, all the whilst maintaining keen eyes and ears towards the ongoing encounter before him.

“You have to do better than that to send a shiver down this spine, honey,” Jason jest. He jumped down another level, maintaining sufficient distance to remain out of Scarecrow’s reach. Yet close enough to keep him anticipating. “Haven’t you heard?” He started, allowing for a brief pause, probably trying to buy Tim as much time as possible without making it too obvious. “Some say the Red Hood is a former Robin who got killed and then crawled their way out of their grave.” He continued, and Tim had to suppress his urge to roll his eyes. “Do you really think fear gas has any use against a potential _zombie_ ” 

Tim had, of course, heard a version of this dialogue before - though usually directed to teens and adolescents in way over their heads. 

Whatever kept Crane distracted, he supposed.  
(Though he was sure to tease him about it later.)

A burst of screeching laughter erupted from their opponent, leaving him with a smile broader and even more deranged than previously. “You would be a fool to believe any such stories would deter _me_ ” Scarecrow laughs, “That simply makes you a category of your own,” he stepped closer, his attention now wholly devoted to the vigilante in front of him, “Unfortunately, experiments which cannot be repeated aren’t good for anything. So I’ll simply have to keep you alive.”

While he spoke, Tim resumed his quest to access one of the computers. Grateful for the dim lighting of the hall, he retreated into the shadows once more, keeping his eyes on the programmers now only a short distance away.

Within less than a minute, lady luck seemed to have cast his lot in his favour, as one of the workers rose from their seat and started walking towards one of the doors a short distance away. Not one to squander such an opportunity, Tim followed his new target at a safe distance. Once the man opened the door and disappeared into the other room, Tim gambled and decided to follow a mere thirty seconds later.

The hallway before him was identical to the fluorescent nightmare from before, the only similarity for which he was grateful was the eerie vacancy of the space. 

Unfortunately, however, his target chose to turn around upon his entrance, stopping in their tracks to whatever their destination. Before they managed to open their mouth and scream or sound any other alarms, Tim threw one of his batarangs against his throat. Skillfully hitting the precise nerve he knew would render his opponent incapacitated. 

Tim promptly rushed forwards as soon as he’d drawn his weapon, taking his first steps long before the man’s body hit the ground.

In his mind, he fleshed out the quick draft of a plan he rolled out upon witnessing the man leaving his desk. It was nothing clever or original, he simply intended to transport the man to a nearby bathroom where he’d lock him in after taking his clothes and fully knocking him out with some light sedatives. Then, he’d return to the main hall disguised as the man, following which he’d occupy his desk and investigate (and hopefully sabotage) whatever code they were working on maintaining. 

Taking a deep breath, he launched the man over his shoulders and put his plan into action. Hoping Jason would manage to keep Scarecrow at bay for just a while longer.

When he finally returned to the main hall a couple of minutes later, he was hit by a great sense of relief upon discovering that Jason remained standing. Apparently, he engaged Scarecrow in a seeming game of Hide and Seek; where Jason would taunt Scarecrow from the shadows, who would in response try to debilitate his opponent.

Nevertheless, Tim moved with an additional speed in his step, not trusting Jason to not grow cocky enough to risk his downfall. Though now covering his suit with a bland dress-shirt and khakis, Tim couldn’t help but feel his skin prickling with tension. Feeling far too exposed and liable to discovery than he’d typically hazard.

He took the vacant seat beside a woman in a beanie, moving in a manner which kept his face directed away from her. Once his fingers finally found the keys of the keyboard, however, a new rush of confidence overcame him. Relishing to be in his element, Tim’s eyes flew across the lines of code staring back at him from the screen, swiftly scanning its contents and purpose. 

What struck him was the sophistication of the content in contrast to the disparity of the structure. As though the plan had been changed and overhauled on multiple occasions, without a sufficient amount of time for the programmers to change and secure their work. However, there were no signs of infiltration; Scarecrow’s hirelings weren’t hackers, but builders. Meaning that this entire operation had, from start, been under such nefarious control.

This would explain the emptiness overwhelming the other parts of the factory, though the shape of the building was only put into further question. If this factory was recently constructed, its commissioner would require not only the funds for such a project but also the influence and charisma to receive approval from the city council. Not to mention the months upon months such enquiries demand prior to response. There were legitimate reasons as to why most villains tended to coop in abandoned factories after all, and Scarecrow didn’t strike him as someone with the patience for bureaucracy. Nor would Tim count him among Penguin or Two-Face; the villains who’d spent decades building their empires of power, wealth, and influence, for whom attaining such permissions wouldn’t pose a challenge. 

His previous suspicions of the involvement of another, more powerful player only grew. Still, who would have it in their interests to use their leverage to construct such a factory? Blackwood couldn’t be the culprit - he’s got the motive, but not quite the influence. 

Tim continued to scan the code, though not without diverting his attention from his surroundings. Making sure to keep his fingers flying across the keyboard to maintain his charade of working.

He adopted another approach, choosing instead to consider the recently installed ventilation system.  
Due to its location by the coast, Gotham City was a near-constant victim of precipitation - which, whilst mostly consisting of rain, also gave them consistently snowy winters. Supply ventilation systems are generally better suited for warm climates, since it is viable to cause mould, mildew, and decay during winter if the interior and exterior air are too different in temperature. Normally, such consequences wouldn’t raise an eyebrow due to the economic status of the neighbourhood. However, Tim knows for a fact there is an alternative ventilation system which is better suited for colder climates, whilst it’s simultaneously as cheap or even cheaper than the current system.

Most of all, however, the very implementation of the ventilation system is cause for suspicion. The Bowery is infamous throughout Gotham not only for the ravaging rates of crime, but it was also the most impoverished. Its dwellings hardly pass any inspection and haven’t seen any renovations for far too long. There are constant news reports of gas leaks, poorly constructed electricity centres, sporadic power outages coming from the neighbourhood, none of which are properly addressed by the landlords. 

Tim need only scroll down a little bit further to confirm his suspicions. 

The program before him worked to emit fear gas from the solar panels. This, due to their proximity to the fans supplying the buildings with their airflow, efficiently transfers the gas into the homes of unsuspecting residents. This would also explain why the fear gas had borne a greater impact upon Steph and Cass on the storage building: the ventilation system has only been installed in residential buildings. Leaving the fear gas unleashed by the solar panels elsewhere without direction.

Now he only needed to identify the source of the gas and replace it with a compatible form of the antidote. 

He moved to stand once more, though not without noticing the looks from the people around him. The woman to his side met his eyes, and for a moment he figured he was caught. For a brief second, he started charting out an alternative plan, trying to piece together how he could incapacitate the programmers fast enough for Scarecrow not to catch wind of the commotion and reach for his gas. Then she raised an eyebrow before looking down on her screen once again, looking as unperturbed as ever. After a tense moment, Tim commenced his retreat. Keeping his head low, Tim retraced his steps back from whence he’d arrived, only to hastily retreat into the shadows upon putting sufficient distance between himself and the programmers. He quickly shed off the layer of civilian clothing, hiding them behind some of the bigger pipes after ensuring they weren’t subject to heating up. 

He pondered his next move when a panicked howl escaped from the platform above him. A howl he distinctly recognised as Jason.

With decreasing vigilance, Tim advanced towards the source of the sound with rapid feet. Immediately jeopardizing his carefully maintained balance between speed and caution. 

Did he take too long? He hadn’t considered the time he spent in front of the computer, too busy striving to determine how to terminate the fear gas leak. He should’ve been more alert, it was his duty as a member of a team to watch out for his companion and to jump in when the situation grew out of their control. 

When a second scream reached his ears he almost abandoned any and all attempts of stealth, moving into a sprint. He launched himself onto the platform above, flying nearly two meters up in the air. With surprising grace he somersaulted onto the platform, jumping to his feet with ease only to immediately face the unhinged laughter of their opponent. Readying his bo-staff, Tim retained an attentive ear back from whence he came, refusing to allow anyone to get the upper hand on him.

“So you finally decided to show up, yeah?” Scarecrow announced as he turned around to reveal an empty syringe in his other hand, accompanied by the image of Jason’s body lying haplessly in a net, his body bundled up with tension. “Took you long enough - I mean seriously, first I’m demoted from my status as an A-tier villain to only ever be challenged by Batman. I don’t think my ego could’ve handled it if there’d only been one of you coming after me,” he complained dramatically, and Tim had to stop himself from groaning in frustration.

Not bothering to grace his opponent with a response, Tim instead dedicated all his energy to fully focus upon his surroundings in all directions.

“No response? Ugh, you’re as boring as the bat,” Scarecrow whined, “But at least the bat presents a challenge, something to _fear_ ” he continued, walking forwards upon discovering that Tim wasn’t about to move, “At least Nightwing has some wits, some charisma,” He finished, sending an inquisitive look in Tim’s direction. Seeming as though he was looking for something.

A moment of silence fell over them as Scarecrow paused to simply _look_ , all the whilst Tim ensured never to abandon his eye whilst simultaneously ensuring complete awareness of the environment.

“Really, as I think about it, I am not sure why they keep you around,” Scarecrow mused in an uncharacteristically tender tone that immediately rose Tim to his toes. “You must be quite the leech for them to not have let go of you yet,” he crooned, his words compelling Tim’s muscles to twitch, jerking the left side of his body as an unwilling reaction.  
Though the movement remained minimal, the leering grin spreading over the mask informed him Scarecrow had detected his reaction. 

“Oh? Do I sense a fear of abandonment perhaps?” Scarecrow noted eagerly, urging the hair on Tim’s arms to strain against his uniform in their attempt to rise. He wanted to respond, to contend, to denounce - but his tongue was tied irreparably. “Speak to me, little bird, _fear_ is my domain, after all,” he giggled and started to walk towards him. Though Tim quickly stopped him once he began coming too close for comfort, raising his staff in defence.

Scarecrow performatively raised his hands, never abandoning the twisted expression of joy on his face. “Birdie, you really think that staff would protect you if I wished you harm?” he clicked his tongue, “Adorable, but I guess that’s what to expect from you bats,” he took a step backwards, somehow transforming the simple movement into one screaming of condescension. “Now, what part of abandonment is it you dread, hm?” he queried rhetorically, “You don’t peg me as someone haunted by nightmares of being replaced, necessarily. Nor of pure loneliness,” he sighed, “Far too many confuse these, wouldn’t you agree? People tend to undervalue the magnificent torment of abandonment by its own merits. Of being left behind not in light of a better alternative, but sometimes for no reason at all. Not of simple loneliness - but of knowing intimacy and affinity only for such companionship to slip through one’s fingers and disappear.”

“What are you looking for, Scarecrow?” Tim interrupted, keeping his voice calm and stable despite the storm blowing up within him. He’d read the reports, Scarecrow was known for seeking his opponents’ weak spots, prodding them to succumb to anguish with or without his gas. 

“The same thing as always,” he snickered, “ _Fear_ ” he whispered, and weren’t Tim already so tense, he’s sure he’d wince.

Whoever made the first move remained uncertain, but the next moment Tim found himself blocking Scarecrow’s sickle with his staff, gazing into the black holes substituting his eyes. His opponent drew his arm back and prepared for another launch, providing Tim with the opportunity to grab his shoulder and launch himself over him to his back. Upon landing, he immediately moved to strike against the vulnerable point on the backside of his knee. Though Scarecrow didn’t permit his fall to be an obstacle - but reached out to seize Tim’s ankle as he jumped backwards, miscalculating the reach of Scarecrow’s abnormally long arms. 

Their fight progressed according to a similar tune - Scarecrow would lunge at Tim with grand and imposing movements. Tim would dodge his attack and seek to strike his weak points. Scarecrow would charge, Tim would evade. It didn’t take long for him to understand why Scarecrow’s particular way of fighting would be called a _Violent Dance_. It didn’t take long for Tim to break a sweat, and soon he could feel his heart rate go up. The rush of adrenaline soon followed, and it was in moments like these he remembered how downright addicting a good fight could be.

Upon first glance, it would appear as though Scarecrow was controlling the fight. He made every action, leaving Tim to act solely with reaction.

A small grin started to tug on the side of his lips. 

Of course, upon further investigation, one might discern that Tim was the one projecting their trajectory. 

In the corner of his eye, he’d spot Jason gesturing towards him, signalling to him to keep Scarecrow distracted.

He performed another handspring as Scarecrow hurled towards him with his sickle, happy that Nightwing wasn’t present to observe his less-than-gracious form. He really didn’t need another lecture about the significance of finesse and to view acrobatics beyond its utility.

When he returned to his feet, he looked up to find that Scarecrow had turned his back to the scene of Jason escaping in favour of facing him. Good. It wouldn’t do to have Jason get caught when he was finally close to shun the grasp of the nefarious net holding him hostage.

Scarecrow crawled closer towards him, and over his shoulder, Tim found that Jason finally seized liberation and was approaching them with deliberate steps, careful not to alert their opponent of his status.

Tim swept Scarecrow’s legs out from under him with his staff just in time for Jason to appear from behind. Using the barrel of his gun to deliver a devastating blow to the back of his head, knocking him out instantly. 

They shared a look over Scarecrow’s now-unconscious body, but neither had the chance to open their mouths and speak before a voice spoke from behind them.

“So, if you like, beat the boss, that means we can leave, right?” a young woman in a beanie spoke from behind them. Radiating that unique sense of nonchalance only ever emanated by teens and certain adolescents. “This dude’s a huge scammer. He hired us off this freelancer app and then refused to pay us, threatening to gas anyone refusing to work,” she continued - and did she just pop _bubblegum_? 

“You should wait until an ambulance arrives, you’ve been held hostage - that’s a traumatising experience and you might be in shock-” Tim started, quickly settling into the age-old spiel they’d deliver to any civilian shaken by whatever they just had to go through.

“An ambulance? Who d’ya think I am, Bruce Wayne?” the woman answered with a joyless laugh, “I’m fine, dude. Just pissed off for not getting paid - this job was supposed to secure my rent this month,” she sighed in exasperation, rolling her eyes so hard Tim was worried she’d pull something. “I just wanna go home and check out any new gigs, ‘kay? ‘Tis not like I’ve had bad clients before,” she whined, leaving Tim too stunned by her complete apathy to properly respond.

“That’s alright, kid. Ye’ sure y’all be ‘lright?” Jason replied, casually marching up towards the freelancer. “Weird for a freelance gig to be on-location, ain’t it? I always thought the pros of freelancing was that you could work from home.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda off but the pay was too good to ignore, ya’ know?” the woman replied in a similarly relaxed manner. “Anyways, can we like, leave now? ‘Tis cool to meet ya’ an’ all - can’t wait to have strangers on Twitter tell me I’m lyin’ when I try to tell my friends what happened - but we really can’t stay and wait for any ambulance or whatever to arrive. Freelancing, y’know - no healthcare.”

Upon realising that he was no longer part of the conversation, Tim bent down to secure Scarecrow’s hands behind his back. After a brief moment’s hesitation, he chose to also secure his legs and and elbows, not willing to give him a chance to escape before his arrival to Arkham.

“Yeah, I read you,” Jason answered. “And yeah you’re free to go - just let me lead ya’ out so you don’t run into any remaining guards,” he nodded towards the entrance, and then turned to look at her again, “What’s yer name, by the way?”

“I’m Sam,” 

“Cool,” Jason started digging in his pockets for what appeared to be a card, which he reached out and offered to Sam, “And I hear you - healthcare is crazy expensive. This here’s the address to my friend, Dr. Leslie Thompkins’, clinic. It’s free and she’s real cool, I swear.”

“‘Kay,” Sam replied, turning the card over in her hand, “Won’t promise nothing - we all need therapy and if this lady’s as based as you say, she’s got far better things to worry ‘bout.” she pocketed the card, and Tim could see she took care not to fold it. “Thanks, dude,”

“No problem,” he rolled his shoulders, “Could you give your colleagues a status rapport while I speak to my partner for a bit?” he nodded in Tim’s direction, and when he met Sam’s eye he couldn’t do anything but offer a stifled nod.

“Sure,” she said as she headed back towards the stairs, only to turn around right as she was about to take her first step, “Oh yeah - we also started shutting down the operation once you left. I figured some capes finally’d come to resolve this whole… situation and the others were up to get out of here so… yeah.” she sent them a grin, “Thank god you got rid of Chris, by the way. He kept fucking up our code and was suuch a teacher’s pet. I swear if you hadn’t come I’d punched him in the face,” she chuckled before finally waving them off and descending downstairs.

“What… just happened?” Tim questioned, looking at Jason with befuddled eyes.

“The labour market these days is brutal,” Jason shrugged, “Gig-work in particular. If I ever catch you using uber eats or whatever, I will cut your hand off,” he continued, his voice the same as if he was asking whatever’s on the tv.

“Noted,” Tim replied, walking towards the machine which Scarecrow had entertained before the young man’s interruption. “We still ought to replace the fear gas with the antidote - far too many has been exposed for us to administer it to them by hand,” he pondered, bending his knees to take a seat upon the tip of his feet before commencing his investigation of the huge chunk of metal before him.

“Got ya’,” Jason reported before presumably marching off to escort the freelancers out of the building - a decision Tim still wasn’t sure he agreed with, though it wasn’t a battle he chose to fight.

Tim soon found his way to the machine’s various tubes, pipes, and wires, all gathered in a manner seemingly designed to perplex anyone attempting to make sense of it. 

When Jason returned a few minutes later, he was welcomed with a quiet exclamation from Tim, who finally managed to identify the group of tubes and pipes transferring the fear gas outside the factory and inside people’s homes.

With a grin, he turned towards Jason and asked him to call for a sufficient amount of the antidote, preferably ready to be transformed into a gas. When Nightwing responded to their call with a frantic voice, reprimanding them and checking up on them all the same: met with little but Jason’s taunts and Tim’s quiet laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea how to end this chapter, all I knew was that I couldn't make you, my poor audience, suffer through reading another thousand words of the gang investigating an empty factory.  
> That's not what anyone's here for, and we all know it.
> 
> As always, I greatly appreciate any and all feedback- including constructive criticism! I want to improve and that's only possible if I know what people like _and_ dislike.
> 
> Anyways, I hope to see you next time and wish y'all the best 'til then.


End file.
